


Brotherhood

by Emmithar



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Hosea Matthews, Young Arthur Morgan, Young John Marston
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 54,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25167820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmithar/pseuds/Emmithar
Summary: No one had asked him if he wanted a brother. Yet here he was, trying to figure out how to deal with an unruly twelve year old, trying to do his part to contribute, and trying to understand where he belongs within this odd gang that had all but become his family. And it feels like the harder he tries, the further away he ends up. Arthur isn't a kid anymore, and he's trying to grow up...but he's afraid it isn't enough.
Comments: 137
Kudos: 181





	1. Hunting

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not an expert in the RDR universe, but recently played the second game and fell in love with it. A comment by Arthur, 'I was the prized pony once, now I'm the work horse," left me thinking of the early days of the Van der Linde gang, and the relationship between Arthur and John. This story focuses on the time shortly after John joins them, with Arthur trying to deal with his feelings about everything, most notably jealously as he is no longer the main focus.

He had been sleeping peacefully. Had being the key word. For a moment he was befuddled, eyes blinking rapidly, trying to figure out where he was, and what exactly it was that he was hearing. Half a moment later his gaze focused on the shape in front of him, a spike of fear racing down his spine, a deep gnarly knot settling in his stomach, almost as if he had been punched. What the hell...

“Arthur?”

“Christ sakes alive, kid. What the hell are you doing in here?”

He took a breath, trying to calm his pounding heart as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, blankets pooling around his waist. John Marston, the bedraggled twelve year old that Dutch and Hosea had taken in just a few months back had been nothing but a pain in the ass, and apparently this morning was proving no different.

“I'm hungry,” John didn't seem the least bit fazed by his outburst.

Arthur pressed a hand against his face, rubbing tired eyes as he still struggled to calm himself. “What the hell do you want me to do about it? There's food out by the fire, go and eat.”

Did he really need to point that part out? He wasn't going to spoon feed the damn kid. He was plenty old enough to shove food in his own damn mouth. There was no need for John to wake him up, or to scare him half to death. Not that Arthur would ever admit he had been scared.

“Yeah, some old bread and cheese,” the boy all but pouted. “I want some real food.”

“And?”

Arthur was still failing to see how this involved him even in the least bit. He met John's gaze, the boy briefly looking away, only to look back with a sigh. “You can go hunting?”

Was it a question or a demand? No way in hell was he going to be taking orders from this little whelp. “You go hunting.”

“I dun know how,” John protested, “'sides, Dutch and Hosea won't let me.”

“Well, go complain to them,” Arthur shook his head as he laid back down.

“They're still sleeping.”

Well, wasn't that the truth. What did John think he had been doing up until this point? What time was it even? Arthur fumbled for the pocket watch near his pillow, squinting in the faint light. Holy hell, it wasn't even five in the morning yet.

“Are you insane?” He wondered, shaking his head once more, “Never mind, don't answer that.” Arthur wondered mildly what his chances were of getting the kid to fall back asleep. Not very good, seeing that expression on his face, something akin to the look Copper had when the dog wanted something. And the whining..

“Aright, fine. But you're coming with me. Now get out here, let me get dressed,” he shooed the kid out the tent, moving to his feet. Getting up at this god damn hour to go hunt because the kid was hungry, and apparently above eating dried bread and cheese. Arthur had not agreed to any of this when they had taken the boy in.

“ _What other option do we have?”_ Dutch had asked him. “ _Let him hang? He's a boy!”_

Arthur agreed that hanging seemed a bit harsh, could agree that taking him from that homestead had been the right thing. But there were plenty of orphanages they could have dumped him off at, plenty of _charming_ folk that would have taken him in. But Dutch wouldn't even entertain the idea. “ _Be nice to your brother.”_ When the hell did he agree to be a brother?

“ _We care for people that need caring for,”_ Dutch had insisted. Hosea agreed, had reminded Arthur that they too had taken him in when he needed help. Arthur had tried to argue, had tried to point out that it was different, but couldn't quite come up with the proper words. Not like it would have mattered. Dutch had the final say in the matter, and that was that. 

And oh how they loved that kid. Even Grimshaw doted on the boy, saying something along the lines of how nice it was to have a youngin to look after. Hosea had wasted little time in trying to teach the boy to read and write, the same way they had done with Arthur. And like Arthur, John had fought it every step of the way. Perhaps the only thing they had in common. But Arthur was never that obstinate. At least, not that the could remember.

He pulled on a coat to help chase away the chill, tossing his satchel over his shoulder. The last thing was his boots, stepping out into the early morning. It was mostly dark still, the faintest wisp of light teasing the horizon.

There was some coffee left over, old and bitter, but at least it was something. John had dressed himself as well, all bundled up in an oversized coat, fumbling to pull some gloves on. Dutch had gone to town, had gotten new clothes for the kid, but had misjudged the size, so everything looked a little funny on him. “ _He'll grow into it,”_ Dutch had defended the simple mistake. 

“ _Oh, he'll be fine, once we get some meat on his bones”,_ Grimshaw had agreed. She and Dutch just loved playing parents to the kid, spoiling him. Hosea too, Arthur noticed. More than once the man had slipped a treat John's way...

Arthur shook off the memory, ignoring the pressing feeling that was creeping up his back. He wasn't a kid anymore, and he could take care of himself well enough. If he wanted a damn treat he could get it himself, he didn't need to wait for someone to toss him a bone. But it would be nice, he mused....

“Hey boy,” the thoughts were chased away, the dog racing up to him, nearly jumping into his arms. Arthur held him in a warm embrace, fingers scratching behind his ears before reaching down to pat his side. “You have to stay here.”

Doubtful the dog would listen. Copper was never very good at listening. But the dog also had a short attention span. He would probably follow them for a while, before getting distracted and taking off on his own. It wasn't that odd for the animal to disappear for a day or two at a time, always coming back, usually covered in filth. Grimshaw would always scold him, yell at Arthur to clean him. “ _No one will be that dirty in my camp, not even a mutt!”_

“Come on, Arthur,” John was tugging on his arm, trying to get him to follow. “When are we going?”

“Why in such a hurry?” Arthur shook him off. He dropped down near the supply wagon, digging through the crates there, shooing Copper away when the dog stuck his head in to see what was happening. Arthur dug around, looking to see what there was. Some bait, a few rounds of ammo...he shoved a piece of bread in his mouth, pulling out his journal and tearing off a blank page.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving a note, kid,” he sighed, annoyed by all the questions.. It was way too early for all of this. He scratched a few lines, explaining he and John were out hunting, that they'd be back in a few hours. Arthur slid the note in Hosea's book on the crate, knowing the man always read first thing in the morning.

“Alright, come on,” he waved at the kid to follow him, picking his way through camp to where the horses were tied. It took some time to saddle up the flaxen chestnut, a small Morgan horse dubbed Clover that had been given to Arthur a few years back. She was an older girl with a fine temperament, and there was little that seemed to spook her. “ _Been around so long, there's nothing she's afraid of anymore. Seen it all already, I guess,”_ Hosea had told him once. 

She was a good horse, but he was starting to outgrow her. Or rather time was starting to catch up to her. Arthur had noticed the last few times they had gone out riding he had fallen behind. Had noticed that she had stumbled more than once. Dutch had said it was because he wasn't good at riding, but Arthur wasn't quick to believe that story.

He had said something to Hosea, had asked about getting another horse, had been told maybe. Horses were expensive, and sure, they could steal one, but horse theft was dangerous. “ _They hang horse thieves,”_ Dutch had warned him. Arthur had dropped the subject then, but each time they had gone into a town, he had found time to stop by the stables, to check it out. 

One time he had seen a beautiful grey Hungarian Halbred, a young stallion they had just gotten in. The stable hand had said the horse was well trained, would be loyal, a strong worker. Arthur had wanted him, then and there, had asked about the price. Had left empty handed shortly after that. One hundred and fifty god damn dollars. That was true robbery.

It had left him in a foul mood, bitter for the rest of the night. Dutch had grown irritated with him, and Grimshaw mostly ignored him, but it was Hosea who had finally prodded him into a confession. He expected the man to laugh, but no, he had listened, and offered a proposal to go take a look, much to Dutch's chagrin, claiming Hosea was spoiling him.

The following day they had ridden out, Hosea encouraging him but making no promises. Still, his heart had leapt at the thought, the very notion that he would own a fine horse like that, would finally be able to beat Dutch at a race. He had even had a name already picked out, was going to call him Barely, and he would take fine care of him, build an even stronger bond than what he had with Clover. She was a good horse, he loved her, but he knew it was time.

Then they had gotten there only to find out that he was gone. Bought by some rancher who needed a strong horse to pull a wagon. What a damn waste. There were a few other horses there, a couple of Morgans, one Tennessee Walker, but Arthur was no longer in the mood. Especially considering the price...he wasn't going to waste that kind of money on an old nag. He had twenty dollars to his name, money he had worked hard at obtaining despite the questioning of it origin, and it was better spent on whiskey. Much to Hosea's annoyance. He really hadn't cared at that point, and since then hadn't asked about a horse again, simply deciding that Clover would have to do for the mean time. 

He whispered to her quietly, smiling as she perked her ears at his approach. He offered her a sugar cube, ignoring John's protests that they had to get moving, that he was taking too long. Arthur gave her a few more pats, purposely stalling, drawing more irritation from John. The damn kid would just have to learn to wait.

Finally he mounted, helping the fidgety teenager up in front of him. He wanted to hold the reins, Arthur snapping at him, threatening to leave him behind if he didn't keep his mouth shut. John protested, but it was short lived as Clover took up a gentle trot through the woods, following a path out to the main road.

“Where we going to hunt at?” the excitement was easy to pick up on, the earlier argument about who held the reigns all but forgotten.

“To the north,” Arthur answered, fighting off a yawn. He could do with more coffee...not much he could do about it now, he supposed. “Hosea and I saw some deer off that way earlier in the week. Some nice looking bucks.”

“I like deer,” John seemed to approve. “Grimshaw puts something on it when she cooks hers; it's really good.”

“Yeah she does,” Arthur agreed, “I think it's thyme.”

“What takes time?”

“No,” Arthur shook his head. “thyme, it's a plant...it kinda looks like leaves.”

“Oh,” the kid nodded, seemingly understanding. “I've eaten leaves before.”

“You have?” he coaxed Clover off the road, letting her pick a way through the trees as John rambled on. If they kept in this direction they should start seeing the hills soon. Night was waning fast, a golden sun starting to warm the land below. Morning was a good time to hunt; Arthur seemed to have had the most luck then.

Hunting was something that was still somewhat new for him. Sure, Dutch and Hosea had taught him to use a gun years back, and he had shot his fair share of people, but hunting animals was completely different. You had to know where they lived, had to know how to track them, had to know how to shoot them for a clean kill. Deer had been about the only thing he had hunted, having gone with Hosea a few times. Mostly it was Dutch and Hosea, the pair going off together that did the hunting. And when they were close to town, they stocked up on supplies, bought meat that had already been hunted.

Currently, they were low on supplies. It had been almost a week since they were last in town. Dutch and Hosea had been working on a scheme with some rancher to the east, a prudish man with no sense in his head according to Hosea. Just the night before the pair had returned, a smile on their face, a sizable amount of cash. An easy scheme apparently. Arthur has asked about it, had wanted to help, but was turned down. There was no need for brawn, just brains, and he had been reminded more than once that he lacked the latter. 

“ _You're good for a fight, Arthur,”_ Dutch had told him, “ _But when it comes to sense, God knows that's not your forte.”_ He wasn't sure what forte meant, but he reckoned it simply meant that Dutch and Hosea didn't want him there. It had stung a little, feelings he had repressed because there was no use in complaining over something he couldn't change. He didn't need to be a part of everything, knew that before he was there, before Grimshaw was there, it had been just the pair. They weren't required to bring Arthur along on everything, let alone anything...

“Whoa,” he slowed Clover down, quieting the protest coming from John. What had he just seen? It was almost missed; the smallest of flickers, a bit of white. Not bright white, like a clean shirt. No...dirty, like a shirt after a romp in the mud. Arthur worked free a gun, a small cattleman revolver, readying it. Like it would do much against a wolf; he could feel the tension rise, could hear his heart pound, noticed every minute noise...

Clover pawed the ground under him, impatient, but not worried. Up ahead he saw it again, the small creature racing away. A fox...nothing but a damn fox. Arthur let out a breath, holstering the gun, ignoring John's questions as he eased Clover back into a trot.

“It's nothing, kid,” he reassured him, still trying to calm his racing heart. Damn he hated wolves. It had been a while back; he and had Hosea had been hunting, had been tracking a good size buck through the snow. Hosea had crested a hill, had seen the creature, had taken aim. The wolf had come out of nowhere, had knocked the older man down. Arthur had panicked, had shot at it. Hadn't killed it, but had startled it, sent it running. Hosea hadn't been hurt, not really. A few bruises, said his pride had been hurt. They lost the deer, but the man had told him they had been lucky. “ _Wolves travel in packs, son. You always have to watch for them.”_

He had once asked Dutch how big a pack of wolves was. The man had shrugged, said he had read once about a pack back east that had killed an entire family. The town had gone, had hunted them down, and said there were over twenty of the things.

“ _You're scaring him, Dutch,”_ Hosea had scolded him. “ _There's no such thing.”_

“ _He ain't scaring me,”_ Arthur had protested. It was a lie. That had happened years ago, and even now the simple thought of wolves sent a chill down his spine. Twenty of those bastards...he couldn't even imagine. He shook off the image, smiling as he saw the clearing before them. 

Arthur pulled Clover to another stop, helping John down first before following suit. He hitched Clover to a tree, pulling free his rifle, making sure it was loaded, and motioning John to follow him. At the edge of the clearing he paused, dropping to one knee as he dug through his satchel.

“Here, put some of this on. Make sure you cover everything.”

“It feels funny,” John complained, sticking one finger into the tin. He scooped out a bit, rubbing it between two fingers, a grimace on his face.

“It's cover scent,” Arthur growled at him, working some into his own skin. “It'll let us get close to the deer. If they smell us, they'll run off long before we get close enough to shoot.”

“I don't like it.”

“I don't care,” Arthur glared at him. “You wanted to hunt, this is how you do it.”

He was determined to teach the boy something. No way in hell was he going to be doing this for him again. John was frowning still, opened his mouth to argue, but stopped when the tin was thrust out to him again. With a bit of a pout the kid picked it up, fingers jabbing into the goop, sloppily running it over his face and neck.

“Finally,” Arthur stuffed the tin back in his satchel, motioning for John to follow as they made their way out of the trees. He walked a fair distance, more than once scolding John for making too much noise; the boy kept talking, kept stomping his feet. Christ, he would scare away half the country at this rate.

“Right,” he kept his voice low, crouching in a spot. This would have to do. Not the most ideal spot, but he couldn't risk taking John any further in. Arthur dug in his satchel, pulling out the cloth, taking care to unwrap it. “Some flowers, and some mushrooms; deer love these. We'll put them here, and go find a nice place to hide.”

“Then what?”

He glanced up at the boy who was watching him closely. Truly he could be dense at times. “When the deer come, we find a good one, and shoot it.” Really, it couldn't be any simpler than that. He laid the bait on the ground, making sure to spread it out evenly. The cloth was wadded up, stuffed back in his bag, and Arthur motioned for John to follow. They found a good tree to hide out by, crouched behind some ferns, and waited.

Waiting was the hardest part. It took time. More time than he liked. Hosea had often chided him, telling him he needed to be more patient. He had gotten better, so he liked to think. Especially now, a few glaring looks shot over towards the kid who kept fidgeting. It was taking a lot of self control to not reach over and simply smack him. Finally John settled, leaning against the tree, and within moments he had fallen asleep. Probably for the best.

Arthur settled down as well, found a comfortable position. His rifle was ready, and all he needed to do now was wait. Slowly he reached in his satchel, easing out his journal. It was light enough to see now, and began sketching, drawing the clearing that was out in front of him. That took some time...still no deer yet. He turned the page, his attention turning to where John slept, making a quick sketch of the kid, following it up with some writing.

_John woke me up this morning, damn kid nearly gave me a heart attack. Still not used to him being around I guess. I asked Dutch the other day when we was dropping him off at an orphanage. He acted like I had suggested killing the kid. Won't be asking that question again, at least not anytime soon._

_I just don't know what Dutch is thinking. We're outlaws; we rob and steal, and yeah we help folk when they need it, but helping and raising? That's two different things. This is no place for a kid. Doubt that my thoughts matter much. Seems like he's here to stay. Guess things could be worse; have to admit, I do kind of like the kid._

It was a strange feeling. One he was having trouble understanding. As irritating as he often found him, Arthur had to admit the kid had a certain charm...he closed the journal, tucking it away quietly. There, in front of him...not very big, a few seasons old maybe. But a beauty still.

Arthur raised the gun, keeping his breaths even, butt of the rifle coming to rest against his shoulder, finger playing on the trigger. The buck was eating, nosing its way through the bait. Another moment, he just had to be patient. Give it a moment, he'd let out a whistle, would have have a split second to take a shot, and--

“Arthur!”

He jumped at he scream, John scrambling to his feet near him. “Look! A deer!”

It was already too late. The buck had taken off at the first yell, long legs propelling it out of the clearing and back into the woods. Still he tried; had raised the weapon, had pulled the trigger. The shot was nowhere near.

“Damn it, kid!” He snarled, turning towards John. “What the hell was that?!”

The boy stood there, a mixture of surprise and slight panic on his face. Arthur knew he could be terrifying, had been told as much by Dutch and Hosea. Arthur bit his lip, turning away. John was an idiot...but damn, he was still just a kid.

“I'm sorry,” the apology was quiet, half muttered, almost a cry. Christ, he couldn't deal with a crying kid.

“Come on, let's go home.”

John turned back to the clearing, “What about the deer?”

“It's long gone now,” Arthur threw up a hand. “So is anything else that might be out there.”

“But...I'm still hungry.”

This kid....Arthur shook his head. “Look, we'll see if we find a rabbit or something on the way home. Come on. There's no point in waiting around here, nothing's going to be out there.”

He was angry, of course he was still angry. But he was doing his best to hold it in, something he was not very good at. Arthur made his way back to Clover, stroking her neck gently, letting it calm him down. There was something about horses that always calmed him, something almost therapeutic. He offered her another sugar cube, glancing over as John came slowly, dragging his feet. Arthur let out a sigh, stowing the rifle, helping John up first this time, settling in behind him.

“Here,” he offered him the reigns. He hated to see the kid moping like this. And heaven help him if he came back to camp with a depressed John. Dutch would never let him live that down. Thankfully the offering seemed to work, a smile crossing the boy's face as he took the reigns. Clover was a good girl, taking to John's coaxing, even if it was a little sloppy. She seemed to understand the situation, taking the lead, assuming a steady pace.

Arthur patted her neck, gave her some sound encouragement. “Let's go home, girl.”


	2. Give and Take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Oolongs and Thors_Drawers for the comments, and to the others that left kudos! Onto to chapter 2.

* * *

“Well, it's about time.”  
  
That was the gist of the greeting they got as they rode back into camp. And boy did Dutch look mad. The older man was watching them, arms folded in front of his chest, dark angry eyes scrutinizing each movement.

“We were out-” Arthur started to explain, but didn't get a chance to finish.

“Hunting,” the man nodded. “I saw the note. And what in the world possessed you to go out hunting, on your own? And with John, none-the-less?”

Arthur scowled, helping John down from the saddle. “He's the one who wanted to go.”

“He's twelve, Arthur, he doesn't get to decide what he wants to do,” Dutch snapped, reaching out to grab the kid. John tried to protest, but was quickly shushed, all but pushed into camp. Grimshaw was near, guiding the boy in near the fire, fussing over him. Arthur watched as she fetched a rag, cleaning the muck off his face.

“He's fine,” he all but muttered, sliding from the saddle himself. “We were hungry...and well...I thought-”

“You thought?” Dutch cut him off once more. “You thought you'd just go off on your own, that you'd just bring a child with you, and do what, exactly?”

He didn't have an answer. Had learned long ago that arguing with Dutch got him nowhere. Thankfully arguments happened few and far between, but it didn't make it any easier to deal with when they did happen. He loved Dutch...but damn did the man have a mean side.

“Go easy on him, Dutch,” Hosea came into the fray, “We have been short on food; Arthur here was just trying to take initiative. You're the one who's always saying he needs to do more.”

“So you think going out and trying to get themselves killed is beneficial?”

“I know how to hunt,” Arthur ground out.

“There are wolves out there, Arthur,” Dutch stressed, finger jabbing out in the direction they had come from. “Did you ever consider that?”

Yes...he had briefly considered that. It still sent a chill down his spine.

“There's wolves everywhere,” Hosea argued. Bless him, at least he seemed to be siding with him and not Dutch.

“And the bandits? Or are you going to say that they're everywhere too?”

Bandits? Arthur didn't say anything, trying to keep his attention on Clover, on brushing her down. He hadn't heard anything about bandits.

“They haven't been seen in over a month, you're getting yourself worked up over nothing,” Hosea and Dutch seemed to be arguing now. If Arthur was smart, he would take the opportunity to slip away. But that had never been his strong suit.

“That's not the point, Hosea,” Dutch was shaking his head. “They left camp in the middle of the night, gallivanting around...they could have been eaten by wolves, killed by bandits-”

“Or the earth could have opened up and swallowed them whole,” Hosea cut him off. “You can't protect them forever.”

“Maybe not,” Dutch agreed, his voice softening. “But I will do my damnedest to try.” There was a pause, and it took Arthur a moment to realize he was being watched. He met Dutch's gaze, held it without turning away.

“What you did was foolish, and stupid. Do you realize that?”

“Yes,” he muttered. He didn't fully agree; he had gone off by himself before, this was not he first time. But it was the first time he had taken John. It definitely would be the last time, that was for damn sure.

“See, he understands, he's sorry, let's forget about it,” Hosea offered, changing the topic. “So, Arthur, did you boys manage to get anything?”

“Not really,” Arthur shook his head. He had been half-tempted to tell the story, concocting the words in his head on the ride back, to get some sort of humor out of it. But that desire was long gone, vanquished by the recent outburst. Instead he reached up to the saddle, unhooking the small animal, holding it out tentatively.

Hosea took it, a chuckle filling the air as he showed Dutch. The man took it, shaking his head. “Well...I think it was a rabbit.”

“I used the wrong gun,” Arthur ground out. The rabbit had darted out in front of them. Arthur had grabbed the closest gun, had fired, gleeful at the thought that they wouldn't be coming back empty handed. Only to realize he had grabbed the sawed off shot gun. Half the rabbit had been decimated. Still, he figured some meat was better than nothing...

“You can say that again,” Dutch was laughing now, holding up the rabbit for the others to see. “Susan, no need to fret. Arthur brought back some breakfast!”

There was momentary pride. Momentary because in the next second it morphed into sheer embarrassment as the woman came over. The excitement on her face died down into disappointment, gingerly taking the carcass, a frown now adorning her face. “Did your horse trample this? Or did you pull it out of Copper's mouth?”

“Looks like he could use some more hunting lessons, right Hosea?”

“Shut up,” Arthur muttered, pushing past the group. Wonderful. First he had been yelled at, now he was being ridiculed. On top of being woken up early, and now hungry to boot...what a day it had been. He heard the others calling after him, Dutch telling him he needed to man up, learn to take joke, Hosea a little more gentle, even offering an apology. Grimshaw had huffed, said something about letting Copper finish the rabbit, what little was left. Arthur didn't stay to find out, ducking inside his tent. At least they gave him privacy in here. Except for John, that was.

“Sorry, Arthur,” the kid had wasted no time in coming in.

“Not now.”

“I didn't-”

“I said not now,” he scolded him once more, a little more forceful. He looked ready to cry again. Arthur let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “ I just...I need to be alone. We'll talk later.”

He waited, hoping it was enough. By god he didn't want to toss the kid out, but he would. Right now he needed space, he needed quiet, needed time to get his head straight. And he was tired...some sleep would do him wonders, he was certain. It was a relief to see John nod, the kid ducking back out of the tent.

Arthur could hear the others, could hear them talking, about what he couldn't rightly say, but their voices sounded at ease. Going on as though everything that had just happened never even took place. How wonderful for them to pretend as none of it bothered them. Arthur shrugged out of his coat, opening his satchel and rifling through the contents, pulling free his journal.

_Well that could have gone better. Turns out Dutch wasn't too pleased about our hunting, not that there was much hunting that happened. Said John was too young, and maybe he was right. Guess he's just worried. Said there were wolves, and bandits. Not sure who I'm more worried about, if I'm being honest. Thought I had seen a wolf, and if it had been a wolf, what would I have done? Could I have protected myself, and John? Dutch is right, I am a fool._

He underlined the last word, the reality of the situation hitting him. What had been thinking? Arthur closed the journal, holding it in his lap as he listened. They were still talking, smelt like something was cooking. Fish maybe...his stomach growled. He was no doubt hungry, but he wasn't ready to go out and face everyone, not just yet. Arthur let out a sigh, stuffing the journal back in his satchel, kicking off his boots as he laid down. He would rest for a bit, then get something to eat after, when things had calmed down.

* * *

Breakfast hadn't been elegant. Hosea was right, supplies were thin. But they weren't destitute...no, far from it. The money clip in his pocket was proof of that. They had made out with a few hundred. Add that to the rest of the money, well, they were well on their way to five, maybe six hundred. Not bad for the work they had done. They would head into town soon, stock back up on supplies, see what else might be of interest.

“He's sleeping,” Hosea pulled him from his thoughts. Arthur hadn't joined them for breakfast, and it was Hosea who had finally gone to check in on him. Dutch finished up the rest of the coffee, setting the cup down.

“Imagine being tired when you spend half the night running around the countryside,” he mused. He had wanted to go after Arthur, to talk with him after the argument. Hosea had held him back, had advised him to give it some time. He was still angry with him, at the reckless decision. What had gotten into his head?

“Oh come now,” Hosea scolded him lightly, “You know as well as I do how convincing John can be. How hard it is to say no...I think Copper is teaching him some tricks.”

True enough. John had wormed his way into their hearts awfully fast. The boy was still small, still gangly. Still resembling the small terrified child they had crossed paths with that night. He had stolen from a homestead, had been caught. They had already strung the noose, were prepared to hang him. A child...who did that to a damn child? From what he had heard, this land was supposed to be becoming more civilized, but that...that had been pure savagery.

He was a far cry from when they had found Arthur. Arthur had been older, bigger, broader...angrier. John...John was almost pitiful at times, but there was wiry little beast hidden within in. And he was learning fast. Give it year, maybe two...yes, he would be formidable, Dutch was certain. If he lived that long; at the rate Arthur was going the pair of them would be dead within a month.

“You don't believe that,” Hosea chided him. Dutch had shared his thoughts with him. “Arthur wouldn't hurt the boy.”

“Not intentionally,” Dutch agreed. True, Arthur seemed to have little patience for the kid. Had asked more than once when John was leaving. But Dutch didn't believe for a moment that Arthur would harm him. They were family...family protected one another.

“Arthur was just trying to teach him,” Hosea explained. “Of course that's like the blind leading the blind...but he's trying. And you should be thankful for that.”

“Maybe,” Dutch let out a sigh. He could still remember waking up that morning, Susan in a panic, saying the boys were gone. Both tents empty, bedrolls long cold, Clover gone from where she had been hitched. It wasn't like Arthur to just leave like that, without telling anyone. It was even more worrisome when they factored in John's disappearance.

Dutch had been readying his horse, a Silver Turkoman dubbed King, to go out and look for them when Hosea had found the note. Buried in a damn book. Stupid, stupid boy. Should have never gone out the in first place, but if he was going to go through the trouble of leaving a note, he should have left it where it was easily found.

From there it was just a matter of waiting. Every possible scenario running through his head, each one worse than the last. Clover was getting old, what happened if she broke a leg? Left the boys out wandering alone? What if Arthur was careless, left his guns unattended and John got a hold of them? Shot himself, or shot Arthur? The area was known for wolves; typically they preyed on the deer, but two young men, one just a kid? Easy pickings there. And then the bandits...true they hadn't been seen in a while, but people said they were a nasty bunch. They would not hesitate to kill and rob a pair of young fools.

Dutch had been ready to get King, to go out searching for them once more, despite what Hosea said. That's when they had appeared, coming over the ridge, moving a leisurely pace. No care in the world. No regrets...oh how it had infuriated him. How could Arthur be so dense? And then he had the nerve to blame John! Dutch let out a sigh, feeling the anger creep up once more. What was he going to do?  
  


“Forgive and forget,” Hosea counseled him. “He knows he did wrong, and Arthur's smart, he won't do it again.”

“I suppose you're right,” Dutch agreed. They had been lucky. Things could have gone so much worse.

“I'll take some time, take Arthur out hunting, teach him a few more things. When we get to get to Springdale, that is. Heard talk of some good bear hunting in that area.”

“You want to take him bear hunting?” Damn, had they just not discussed the prospect of keeping the boys alive? Now Hosea wanted to intentionally go out and find an animal that would happily maul them?

“You can't protect them forever,” Hosea reminded him once more. “Best to teach them, before they need the lesson. Besides, we'll be hunting black bears; those things like to run rather than fight. It'll be good for Arthur to learn how to take down something bigger than a deer.”

“You can teach him how to hunt rabbits too,” he added, chuckling at the image. That poor creature...

“In due time,” Hosea agreed with a laugh. “But if we're going to head into town, we need to get going. It's an hour ride, and we'll need to wake up early tomorrow if we're pulling out.”

“True,” Dutch agreed. “Well, why don't you wake Arthur up, have him keep an eye on camp.”

“He won't be happy, being left behind,” Hosea warned him.

“He's tired, Hosea. And he missed breakfast. I'm not going to wait around for him to eat. He'll be fine here. Not to mention he hates shopping, and I don't have it in me to argue with him anymore today.”

The older man sighed, but relented, “If you say so. Get the wagon ready then, let's get out of here.”

* * *

He knew Dutch was angry with him still, but damn, did he really have to be punished like this? Arthur chewed on his lip, drawing his arm back over his head, bringing it forward, letting the stick fly. Copper let out a yip, racing after it, half stumbling, crashing through the undergrowth. Usually it was enough to make him smile...but now...he let out a sigh.

“ _Why do I have to stay here?”_ He had only been partially awake, watching as the others climbed into the wagon. 

“ _Oh don't fret, Arthur,”_ Dutch had all but sighed. _“Someone needs to stay behind and keep an eye on the camp.”_

But why him? He grabbed the stick from Copper, tossing it back out much to the dog's excitement. Sure, he could understand Dutch and Hosea going...but Grimshaw? She was Dutch's girl, sure...Arthur had once called her Dutch's wife, a title he had been quickly corrected on. Still, whatever she was, he guess it made sense that she would tag along. But the real kicker was John. Why the hell did John get to go while he sat here and babysat the camp?  
  


“ _What he hell are we supposed to do, Arthur?”_ Dutch had wondered, _“Leave John here by himself?”_

Of course not. It was a different stick this time, shorter and smaller, thoroughly covered in slobber. Copper seemed to not notice, or if he did notice, surely didn't mind. Arthur threw it as best he could, wiping the slobber off on his pants. It all made sense. But he didn't like it.

“ _Don't worry, son,”_ Hosea had told him. _“We're just getting some supplies, you aren't missing out on anything exciting. Have some lunch, and get some rest. We'll be back soon.”_

It had been hours since they had left now. Arthur had finished up what little food was left behind, had wandered a bit and gathered some berries. Normally he would bring back extra to share, but he pointedly ate them all, determined to at least have something to himself. The satisfaction only lasted a short while. He had then busied himself with his journal, sketching the camp, and Copper, an odd tree he had seen a while back. Didn't quite get that tree right, he had trouble drawing from memory. Needed to be able to see it.

The journal had been Hosea's idea. To help with his reading and writing. Hosea had encouraged him to write in it daily. At first it had been hard, mostly because he didn't know what to write. But with Hosea's help, it became easier. Now he loved it. It was almost as if it was an old friend, someone who he could talk to, someone that would actually listen to him. It was a rather one-sided conversation, but he didn't mind.

“Copper, that's a rock, you dumb dog,” he scolded. Copper didn't seem bothered, and when Arthur threw it, the dog took off after it all the same. Silly thing...he was a good dog. Arthur found himself smiling as he came running back, stick in his mouth this time. “Good job, boy.”

The game went on for a while. No matter how many times he threw the stick, Copper was ready to fetch it. He had an amazing amount of energy. Sometimes too much. One time he had caught scent of a squirrel, had chased it through camp. Boy had that ever been a mess. Dinner had been ruined, the table knocked over, Hosea's tent had collapsed...with Hosea inside.

Arthur had laughed then...and had made himself scarce soon after. He had gotten a verbal lashing on his return, Dutch had threatened to get rid of the dog...a threat that never had been followed through on. Dutch had apologized, had asked him to please get control of dog. Arthur had done his best to make sure that Copper was well worn after that. He couldn't cause trouble if he was sleeping.

It took time, but eventually Copper dropped the stick, laying down near his feet, unmotivated to chase after it. Arthur praised him still, crouched down near him, scratching behind his ears. A warm, wet tongue caught him in the face, and Arthur pushed him away with a laugh, wiping the slobber off with a sleeve. Dog breath...he didn't know what Copper ate but man did it smell.

The dog rolled over, head lolling to one side, tail still wagging. It changed the next moment, head up, alert, a few barks sounding. Somehow the animal found the energy to spring to his feet, racing forward. Arthur glanced up, watching as the wagon drove in. Hosea was driving, Grimshaw seated next to him. But where was Dutch? And John?

Then he saw the horse. A beautiful white horse, flecks of grey adding a hint of depth, highlighting the muscles, long white hair that draped over it's eyes, ears twitching at the sounds that enveloped it. A strong, smooth stride, trotting easily after the wagon. It couldn't be...

Arthur practically ran, nearly beating Copper to the group. Hosea had slowed the wagon, Dutch bringing the horse up alongside it. John sat in front of him, a smile on his face. One that matched Arthur's surely.

“She's a...,” he breathed, reaching up, stroking her nose.

“A Nokota, yes” Dutch nodded, “you like her?”

“She's beautiful,” he still was having trouble believing it. In the back of his mind there was the smallest twinge of guilt. For how he had behaved. Poorly...at best. And now...now they were giving him this beautiful horse? It didn't seem real.

He turned to glance at Hosea, wanting to share the joy, to express his thanks, but the man's expression gave him pause. It was bitter, the man thin lipped, eyes narrow, and he didn't wait, simply turned away, moving to unhitch the horse from the wagon. Why was he...he figured out of everyone that Hosea would be the most excited...

“I'm going to call her Big Girl,” John announced happily.

What the hell kind of name was that? “Who says you get to name her?”

“Well, she's my horse.”

It was a punch to the gut. His chest tight, almost as if he forgot how to breathe. The joy, so strongly felt all but gone, replaced by disbelief...by anger.

“John gets the horse?!” He hadn't realized he yelled, hadn't meant to, but couldn't help it. He took a shaky step back, hands dropping to his side, searching Dutch's face, hoping that this was some sort of prank, some sick joke.

“John needs a horse, we can't be toting him around forever,” Dutch's voice was low, angry as well.

“I've been wanting one-”

“You have a horse already,” Dutch cut him off. He had dismounted, had helped John down. The kid scampered off at the first opportunity, putting as much distance between them as possible. The Nokota, bless her, was agitated with the all the yelling, but stood her ground.

“That's not fair,” Arthur protested. Yeah, he had a horse, a horse that was nigh on useless. Everyone had a better horse than he did, even John now...apparently.

“Don't start, Arthur,” Dutch growled, leading the horse over to the others. “You should be happy for your brother. He just got his first horse.”

“And how much did you pay for her?” he knew they had made money recently, had been told, had been promised a share. A share he hadn't yet seen.

“Too much,” Hosea commented dryly behind them.

“It was not,” Dutch deflected. “And it doesn't matter. What's done is done, and you'll learn to deal.”

“Dutch,” he tried to plead again, tried to make the man understand.

“Enough, Arthur,” the man was having none of it. Dutch grabbed him by the arm, drawing him close, his voice low. “You are a god damn adult. Try acting like one for once.”

Arthur pulled out of his grasp, fighting back the tears that were dangerously threatening to fall. He didn't stop, didn't look back as he left, not quite a run but surely not a walk. He needed to get out of there. He couldn't breathe, not properly, but his anger kept him moving. He could hear Dutch yelling after him, curses filling the air, but the man didn't follow. Thank god, he couldn't handle it. Enough time...he just needed...needed to be far enough away from the camp. He fell to his knees, unable to hold back the tears anymore.

His body shook, sobs escaping him no matter how hard he tried to stop. He hadn't cried like this in a long time, couldn't even remember. Had learned long ago to hide his thoughts, his feelings, and he felt ashamed at all of this now. Why couldn't he stop crying? He stiffened at the sound, the shuffling steps behind him, relaxing only as a wet nose pressed against his ear, a soft whine filling the air.

Copper had followed him, had pressed against him, nosing his way into his arms, against his chest. Arthur held him close, taking solace his whines, the warm tongue that darted across his face, catching the tears. He was such a good boy....such a good boy...


	3. You're My Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, I love seeing your guys thoughts! And yes, Dutch is a bit of an idiot, but I think we all know that. A little bit of comfort in this chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

Dutch could be an infuriating man sometimes. He had known the man close to ten years now and they worked well together for the most part. Sure, they argued, had their differences, some of which were minor. Other times Dutch could be an idiot, could do something so egregiously it left Hosea to wonder what the hell they were still doing together. But usually the man fixed things, made them right. How he was ever going to make this right was beyond him.

“I told you,” he paused, taking another breath, “I warned you that this wasn't a good idea.”

“Give it a rest Hosea. Arthur will be fine.”

“You sure about that?” he wondered. “Cause I'm not.”

“Arthur needs to learn that he can't get what he wants by throwing a fit,” Dutch started to lecture him. Oh hell no, that wasn't going to happen. Not now.

“You have any idea how long that boy has been asking for a new horse?” Hosea demanded. “Because I do.”

“Yes, and when the precious horse he wanted wasn't there he turned down all the other offers,” Dutch pointed out. “I remember; he was angry, sullen, ready to blame everyone else, and he wouldn't accept the fact that sometimes things happen. He needs to grow up; I'm getting really tired of insolence.”

God damn him. Dutch hadn't even bothered to ride out to see the horse then, hadn't even shown vague interest. Hosea could remember that day, could remember the excitement in Arthur's eyes. And how quickly it had fled when they found out that the horse was gone. How crestfallen the lad had been. Hosea had been ready to buy all the other horses in the stable, damn the cost, if it meant bringing that joy back. But Arthur wouldn't hear of it, dreams already seemingly dashed.

He had stopped asking for a new horse after that, but Hosea hadn't missed how Arthur watched the horses whenever they went to town. He never went into the stables, no...Hosea had prompted him once but the young man had brushed him off, had pretended to he hadn't heard. Couldn't face that disappointment again, he guessed.

Which brought them to today. Visiting the stables hadn't been in the original plans, but Dutch had insisted. They had money left over, and he was right, John did need a horse. Clover was old, but she knew the boy, and her temperament was perfect for a first horse. He could take her, and they bring a new horse back to Arthur. But Dutch had scoffed at the idea. What a disaster. Even Hosea had been unprepared for how poorly Arthur had taken it.

  
“We should have given Clover to John,” he reminded the man.

“John needs a horse he can grow into,” Dutch argued, “One he can bond with. Not one he'll use for a year, maybe two, and then have to replace.”

“Oh, but that's perfectly fine for Arthur?”

“Arthur has had that horse since he's been with us, for the past-”

“Five years,” Hosea agreed; almost six now, but that was besides the point. “She was my old horse before I got Scout. And she was already old then. We were talking about selling her, while she could still get a fair price. Then you went and gave her to Arthur.”

“And he loved her.”

“You can love someone and still realize when it's time for something new,” Hosea responded softly. Oh Bessie...how he missed her.

“What do you want from me, Hosea?”

“I want you to pretend that you give a damn about the man you call your son,” he spat angrily. How many times had Dutch said that Arthur was his son? More than a son? The pride he had felt in raising him. Was all that gone because of John? Hosea loved the little lad, no doubts about that. But he was no fool to think that Arthur could so easily be forgotten. Yet Dutch seemed to think so.

“Fine...I'll take him to town in the morning and get him a damn horse. Will that make you happy?”

“It's not about the damn horse,” Hosea was ready to lose his mind. Why could Dutch not understand this one simple thing?

“I thought this was about the damn horse.”

“It's about the fact you've completely ignored Arthur these past few months in favor of John.”

There. He said it. Heaven help him he said it. He could only pray that John didn't hear. A quick glance over to the camp, seeing Grimshaw playing with the boy, keeping him busy. Thank god, they were far enough away...

“So, you'd rather I ignore John, a young boy, in favor of an adult with misguided anger?”

“It's not one or the other, Dutch,” Hosea said softly. He was tired. So tired of this. And still he needed to find Arthur. How his heart ached for the lad. “You can give your time, your effort to the both of them. It was your idea to take Arthur in, a good idea, my old friend, but you can't toss him out in favor of something new.”

“I have done no such thing,” Dutch growled, facing him.

“Well it sure seems like you have,” Hosea shook his head.

He watched as Dutch sighed, the man seeming as though he wanted to argue, had seemed to start, but then he fell silent, shaking his head.

“Maybe I have been too hard on him,” Dutch admitted. The first sensible thing he had said in a while now. “It's been a long day, and...well...tomorrow will be better.”

That was it? Hosea shook his head. Perhaps not as sensible as he thought. “Just spend some damn time with him,” did he really need to spell this out? “Without yelling at him, if you can.”

“Hosea,” the man all but pleaded. Yet Hosea was shaking his head.

“Not now...I think...I think the best thing for now is if you two didn't speak for a while. I'm going to go find him, see how he's doing.”

“If you insist,” Dutch grumbled. So that was that. Hosea watched him return to camp, before taking off on his own. He had seen the direction Arthur had gone in, and even when the the young man had disappeared from sight, following the trail he left behind was easy. He hadn't gone far...maybe a walk of ten minutes. Less if one was running, which he suspected was the case. He had seen Copper first, the dog running up to greet him, before leading him back to the youth.

Arthur was on the ground, leaning against a tree, simply staring straight out. His eyes were puffy, his face red. Of course he had been crying...Hosea felt his heart break all the more. He should have stopped Dutch. Should have done more to reason with him, to make him understand how badly this would have hurt...Well, it was done with. He couldn't change the past.

“Mind if I have a sit?”

Arthur shrugged, still hadn't met his gaze. Hosea eased himself down, pushing Copper away as the dog tried to climb in his lap. Arthur put an arm around the animal, guiding him back over, fingers running through his fur. Hosea let out a sigh.

“How are doing, son?”

“I'm fine.”

The response was almost monotonous. As if it was practiced. Damn, knowing him it probably was. Probably had been preparing himself to return to camp, to put on a brave face, to pretend he didn't care. He had seen more than one side to Arthur in the past years, had learned that the boy was reserved, that he hid a lot. There was still a lot about his past they didn't know. A lot he refused to talk about, but the scars showed, the way he buried his emotions so deeply down inside of him, allowing only the anger to show. It was nothing more than a facade. Why couldn't Dutch understand that?

“I'm sorry that happened.”

“It's okay.” Another monotonous answer. Damn, Dutch really had done it this time.

“No, it's not okay,” he countered. He needed Arthur to understand that, needed for him to know that his feelings could not be so easily disregarded. “Dutch doesn't always think-”

“Dutch is right. John needs a horse. I already have one. What's not to understand?”

He wanted to slap him, to shake him, to pull him out of this stupor he had fallen in. But he couldn't. Wouldn't. The poor lad already had so much to deal with, he didn't need more trauma.

“Now listen here, Dutch isn't always right. I've been with him long enough to know that now. He's a good man, but he can be a downright fool at times. And absolute idiot, even. He doesn't always think things through.”

He paused, glancing over at Arthur, watching for some spark, some acknowledgment that he was getting through to him. But the same placid expression was there. He looked uninterested, uncaring...exhausted. He looked exhausted. Dutch had been right about one thing. It had been a long day.

“Now, I know Clover is getting old. But she still has some life in her. Springdale, this new place we're heading out to starting tomorrow, it's a pretty decent town. We'll ride in, see how much we can get off her, see what our options are. We'll get you a horse, a decent horse. It'll be your choice. How does that sound?”

“Clover is fine,” Arthur shook his head. “Don't waste the money; it's not worth it.”

Oh Arthur; Hosea felt his heart break all the more. Did he really think that? “Arthur...look at me,” he waited until the other complied. Damn there was so much hurt in those eyes. “I don't ever want to hear you say that. You hear me?”

He waited a moment, almost too long of a moment, but Arthur finally nodded. Whether he believed it, or was simply complying to make him happy, Hosea couldn't tell. “You are a son to us, to both Dutch and myself. We're family...and family takes care of one another. We might not always agree...”

“I know,” Arthur nodded. “I'm just...I'm tired...I think...”

“That tomorrow will be a better day?” he echoed the words from Dutch earlier. To his surprise he heard Arthur laugh.

“It better damn well be. I don't think I can handle anything worse.”

“Truer words never spoken,” Hosea smiled at him. It was good to hear him laugh, it relaxed him, if only a little. “You ready to head back to camp?”

“Not really,” Arthur shook his head. “I'm not in the mood for another lecture.”

“What if I promise you that any and all future lectures will be postponed until tomorrow?”

“After breakfast?”

Hosea laughed, “After breakfast. Sound like a deal?”

“Sure,” Arthur nodded. “Right now...right now I just want my bed. Some whiskey wouldn't hurt either.”

“You're too young to be drinking,” he chided him, prompting another laugh.

“And you shouldn't have introduced such a sin to a youngster if that was your concern.”

Hosea was laughing, pushing himself to his feet. “Well, I never said I was without sin,” he reached down, helping Arthur up. He seemed better, seemed a little more like himself. It was a good sign, but Hosea would keep an eye on him the next few days, would have another talk with Dutch, try and make the man see reason. It would definitely be a task, but a task that Hosea would gladly face head on.

* * *

Going back to camp had been tough. He thought he had been ready, thought he had been over it, but going back, seeing the horse still there did nothing but stir the contempt all the more. Arthur had avoided saying anything, had kept his head down, eaten his dinner in silence and had excused himself shortly after.

That had been hours ago. It was dark out now, the camp long quiet, and he was sure he was the only one who wasn't sleeping. Writing in his journal had helped, but only briefly. It wasn't fair...why did John get a new horse? The kid had only been with them for a few months, hadn't done anything to contribute; hell, he didn't even do any chores around the camp. Not to mention the fact he could barely ride, and they had all but gone out and bought the best horse they could find for him.

Meanwhile he had been with them for years, was expected to pull his fair share, to put in the effort. And what did he get? A tired old mare that no one wanted any longer. A horse they had almost sold when Hosea had purchased a new one. It had been given to him as almost an afterthought. He closed his eyes with a sigh.

It wasn't as though he didn't love Clover. He had fallen in love with her since he first joined Dutch and Hosea. But he had seen how the years were slowing her down, knew it was just a matter of time before things became too much. And then what? Another used up nag? A pitiful pony that no one else wanted? Surely nothing too grand; Dutch wouldn't want John's new addition to be shown up.

“Arthur?”

He let out a sigh. Speaking of John...

“What?”

The shuffling of feet came closer, stopping just outside his bedroll. “Are you asleep?”

And they called him dumb. Arthur glanced over to him, the kid barely visible in the dark. “Do you think I'm asleep?” He waited, but there was no response. “What do you want?”

Hadn't the kid done enough? The thought crossed his mind briefly before fading away. It was a might unfair, blaming him. After all, it wasn't the kid's decision. No...that had been Dutch. Damn him...

“I can't sleep.”

“Hard to do when you're standing in my tent,” Arthur grumbled.

“Can I?”

“You have your own bed.” He really wasn't in the mood for this tonight. Why couldn't he just leave him be? Was that really too much to ask for? John didn't answer, but neither did he move. Rather he just stood there, fidgeting in the dark, shuffling where he stood. With a sigh, Arthur lifted the blanket, and the kid wasted no time in crawling in, curling up against him.

“You're too old for this,” Arthur warned him. It wasn't the first time John had slept with him. No...they had found out shortly after picking him up that the kid didn't like sleeping by himself. He would plead, bargain, or just straight up sneak into bed with someone long after they had gone to sleep. And for some damn reason John seemed to prefer being with him. And the worst part was that it was so hard to say no...

“Arthur?”

“If you're going to stay, you need to go to sleep,” he all but hushed him. Letting him stay was one thing, but no way in hell was he going to entertain him.

“You can have the horse if you want.”

For a moment he couldn't breathe. He had expected a lot of things, but not this. It was a generous offer, sure, but there was no way in hell that would work. Dutch wouldn't hear of it. Besides, what was the kid thinking? Arthur glanced down at him with a frown. “Now why would you do that? She's your horse.”

“I don't want you mad at me,” he answered quietly. The words were so soft; it made him sound so young...

“I ain't mad at you, kid.”

“You haven't talked to me all night.”

He closed his eyes, the anger he felt morphing into guilt. He hadn't really talked to anyone that night, but of course John was the only one who would take it personally. Arthur thought back to the moment, remembering the excitement in his eyes, how quickly that had disappeared, could remember just how fast John had bolted from the area when he and Dutch started to argue. What the hell had he done?

“ _You should be happy for your brother.”_

What a god damn fool he had been. Was it really that hard to just be happy for him? To not make the kid feel guilty about getting something? He let out a sigh.

“Look, you don't be giving me nor anyone else anything. She's a damn fine horse, and she's yours; she ain't mine. A don't you be thinking I'm mad at you, cause I'm not. You understand?”

He wasn't good at this sort of thing, had never learned the grace of words like Dutch or Hosea had. Giving speeches? That wasn't who he was. But John needed to hear something, needed to understand that this wasn't his fault.

“I guess,” the kid muttered, shrugging his shoulders. “I just don't want you to hate me.”

“I don't hate you,” Arthur reassured him. “You're as dumb as a box of rocks, and an annoying little shit...but against my better judgment, I kind of like you. Just...promise me you'll take good care of her.”

“I will,” John agreed, a hint of enthusiasm in his voice.

“Good,” Arthur gave him a pat on the back. “Now go to sleep; we're getting up early.”

He heard the boy yawn, felt him burrow further down into the blanket, still pressed against his side. A moment later he let out a sigh. “Arthur?”

“What?” he sighed heavily.

“I'm glad you're my brother.”

He didn't answer. Not a first. Truthfully he shouldn't be shocked; Dutch and Hosea had all but called them brothers since that night they have saved him. But it was the first time the kid had called him that. And he wasn't sure what to think. Wasn't sure how to respond. But he needed to say something. So he said the first thing that came to mind.

“I know...I know.”


	4. Poker and Leads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to all those who reviewed! Bit of a longer chapter here, but no real good place to split it, so enjoy!

As promised they were up early. It took time to pack; filling the wagon, collapsing the tents, storing the bed rolls. Arthur took care in packing away the few possessions that were truly his. A photo of his mother, before she had passed away. Another of his father, after the man had been arrested. Arthur had taken it out a newspaper, a few days after the man had been hanged. There was a jar with a flower, a tradition his mother had held; he wasn't sure why, but he liked to continue it. Always picked more whenever they were in the area. The last thing from his old life was his hat...which was once his father's. Yet another thing he wasn't sure why he kept.

His father had been a mean bastard. Had always hated the fact he had been stuck with the boy after his wife's death. Took every opportunity to remind Arthur what a poor excuse of a son he was. The man liked to drink, liked to hit...Arthur had watched him die, had been there at the hanging. He wouldn't cry over the man's death, but it's not like he could feel any joy behind it.

“ _Family can be complicated,”_ Hosea had told him once. “Y _ou can love and hate them all the same_.”

Perhaps. He had spent the next three years on the streets, scrounging, stealing what little he could to survive. Had ended up in jail more than once for petty thefts. Had been told time and time again that the fact he was a kid was the only reason he was still alive. They'd hang him before long if he didn't shape up, become a model citizen. And how the hell was he supposed to do that? Arthur had kept up his antics, had pushed his luck, had figured that one day he would end up on the noose just like his father, and for the most part was okay with that notion. Life had done him no favors, and each day it became harder to survive. Then he had meet Dutch and Hosea. How times had changed.

Rarely did he ever go hungry now. Hadn't spent a night alone since joining them. Had learned a lot; how to read, how to write, how to ride...the first time he ever rode a horse. The memory brought a smile to his face. Hosea had Clover then, a small but beautiful girl. Had spent days letting Arthur ride her, had finally given her to him. A few months prior to that he had been all but convinced he would starve to death in a back alley, and now...all these years later.

He let out a sigh. Dutch and Hosea had done a lot for him. Had changed his life so much, had gotten him to where he was now. And as always he had been ungrateful. Dutch was right; he should be happy for John. The poor kid...what should have been a happy moment had been ruined, all because of him. Because he wanted something that wasn't owed to him. They still hadn't talked about what had happened. Not really. At least there had been no lecture, for which he was grateful, but the awkward silence...he wasn't quite sure what to think about that.

“Come on, Arthur,” Dutch all but pleaded with him. “We're not going to get anywhere if you keep daydreaming.”

He muttered an apology as he moved to his feet, grabbing the bedroll. Clover was grazing, hardly paying any attention as he secured it behind the saddle. She did notice when he offered the peppermint, happily taking it from his hand. “Good girl,” he encouraged her.

“You sure he's okay to ride this thing by himself?” Hosea called to Dutch. He was holding the Nokota, Big Girl, and John was by his side. Damn did that horse dwarf the boy.

“Arthur will be with him,” Dutch answered, looking over towards him. “Assuming that you're okay with that.”

A statement, not a question, Arthur noted. Still he nodded, letting out a sigh. “Yeah, I got it.”

So, babysitting it was. Usually John rode in the wagon with Hosea and Grimshaw. Dutch would usually ride on King, next to Arthur. They would spend the time talking...but it didn't seem like that was going to happen now. Dutch had already taken to the wagon with Grimshaw, and Hosea was climbing in the back. Scout, his dark bay Shire, was the one pulling the wagon, and King was a feisty fellow, would not let anyone but Dutch ride.

“What do I do?” John almost seemed panicked, sitting on top of the horse now, the creature shuffling below him.

“Stop being nervous for one,” Arthur chided him. “Don't yank on the reigns...” he mounted Clover, nudging her over towards the pair. “Just...be gentle. Small movements. And keep your voice calm.”

“Okay,” John nodded quickly, but the uncertainty was still there. “I...I think...”

“Just keep close to me,” Arthur reassured him, “You'll do just fine.”

The wagon was already rolling out, and he nudged Clover into a trot, motioning for John to do the same to Big Girl. He had to give her credit, the horse seemed to have patience with the kid. That was a good thing, he suspected. There was still a twinge of jealousy, the smallest bit of anger, of frustration. She was a beautiful horse. Arthur shook his head, trying his best to forget. He reached out, patting Clover's flank, voice low as he praised her.

Ahead of him Copper ran along the wagon, jumping in the back at Hosea's encouragement, the hound happily dropping down besides the older man. He heard John laugh, couldn't help but laugh himself as they watched the dog lick and kiss, despite Hosea's best efforts to discourage him otherwise. Once out of the trees and onto the road the pace picked up. Arthur moved Clover into a gentle cantor, showing John how to do the same. The kid was a little sloppy, loose one moment, too tight in the next, but he had give credit to whoever trained the horse. Big Girl seemed to ignore the rough handling, falling in step next to Clover, following her lead.

They traveled for most of the day, stopping once or twice to rest the horses, to take a break themselves. But it wasn't until late night they stopped completely, setting up a rough camp a ways off the road in a clearing. John had opted to ride in the wagon long before then, falling asleep on Hosea, leaving Arthur to guide both Big Girl and King along the road. Not that it had been too difficult for him to handle.

The next morning they left a little later, and for the next several days the same pattern continued. Most of the day spent on the road, a few breaks here and there, short nights, early mornings. John was getting better at riding, or perhaps Big Girl was simply getting used to his antics, it was hard to tell. However it was, he seemed pleased with himself, and despite Arthur's earlier disdain, he had to admit that he too was proud of the kid. John was learning fast.

On the fifth day, shortly after morning, Dutch had finally pulled the wagon off the road, following a hidden trail that headed to the east. It was barely big enough to get the wagon through, the pace slowing down to almost a stop. Arthur eased Clover down to a trot, John doing the same without having to be directed, and they traveled in a single file line for several minutes before they hit the clearing. Oh how beautiful it was.

Sunlight filtered through the trees, the air around them filled with the sounds of birds, the gentle flow of water in the distance. A stream ran around the edge of the clearing, slow moving and somewhat wide. Arthur dismounted, helping John to do the same a moment after, before taking another look around. He pulled his hat off, wiping the sweat off his brow with a sleeve, taking in a deep breath, relishing in the cool air. He hadn't been this far north in a while. It was nice.

Arthur reached in his satchel, fingers digging deep, brushing against the leather bound journal. His first instinct was to sketch this place, to capture it as he first saw it.

“Susan, Hosea,” Dutch was already shouting orders, “Let's get this place set up, make it into a home. John...you stay out of the water. Arthur, ride with me.”

Well, that was short lived. “Where we going?”

“Going to ride into town, see what business we can drum up.”

That wasn't usually his thing. Normally Dutch and Hosea rode in first. Arthur would join later, once they had scoped things out, or if they thought they needed him to help convince some poor unfortunate sod to make wiser choices. Still he wouldn't complain. It beat helping set up camp, a chore that Arthur always did his best to avoid.

“No Copper,” He scolded the dog, shooing him away as he mounted Clover once more. He could swear she protested at the simple thought of having to travel yet again so soon. Arthur gave her a soft apology, fished out another peppermint from his pocket. The peace offering seemed to work, at least for now. He would have to stock up on treats while in town; he was starting to get low.

“So what's this place called again?” He asked, breaking the uneasy silence between them as they rode out.

“Springdale; it's bigger than the last place we just were, but not by much. It's a logging town; Hosea and I were here quite a few years back, before we met you. Some good money moves through this town, but we never had an opportunity to really move on that.”

“You guys get in trouble?”

Dutch laughed, “Us? Trouble? Whatever do you mean, Arthur?”

“I can only imagine,” he shook his head. He had heard some of the stories, of their antics. They had ended in jail once, shortly before they had crossed paths. The sheriff had been set to hang them, and the way Hosea had talked about it, that very nearly had happened. Briefly he wondered if this was the same place...

“We're going to see what's changed, see what opportunities we have. We'll spend a few days here, and I'll have Hosea see if anything's worth going after. If there is, we'll figure out some plans, but if not, then we'll keep heading west. There's a few more places yet that could be good for us.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he agreed. The last scam they had run had come out decent enough from what he heard. But most of that money had been spent already, restocking supplies, and of course buying that new horse for John. Arthur let out a sigh; they never seemed to have enough money.

The ride into town took about twenty minutes, a collection of buildings rising in front of them as they drew near, all lined up and down a single street, nestled at the base of a hill. Carts of lumber were parked at one end near a old barn, large shire horses hitched and ready, waiting for the long journey to the mill. They had passed that a while back ago, on the way to camp.

Arthur followed Dutch's lead, reigning in Clover as they neared the town. Near him, Dutch let out a sigh, shaking his head. “Hasn't changed much from the last time.”

They sat there like that for several minutes, watching the towns folk wander about their business. Arthur could see the saloon, a motel right next door, a general store across the street. Couldn't see what else there was, not from here, but there were several large buildings still.

“Right then; I'm going to do some poking around. You go on and get yourself a bath, get cleaned up.”

“What?” he couldn't be serious. A bath? He had been brought all this way for a bath? What about checking things out?

“Have you seen yourself lately?” Dutch wondered, meeting his gaze. “You look a mess, son. And you stink.”

“We've been on the road for near a week, Dutch, we all stink.”

“I, for one, will highly disagree with that,” the man chuckled, “but you can either take a hot bath here, or a cold one back at camp. You know Susan will force you.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he frowned. She had done it more than once. Had dragged him by the ear over the water barrel, had stood over him, hands on hips, chastising him for every missed spot. That woman...he really didn't know what to make of her sometimes.

“You need a shave too,” Dutch reached out, fingers brushing against his beard. Arthur batted his hand away in annoyance.

“It's fine.”

“You look like a tramp. Like someone who lives on the road.”

“We do live on the road,” he pointed out.

“Go get cleaned up,” Dutch laughed, “I'll meet you in saloon when you're done.”

So that was that. Dutch had already taken the lead, moving further into town. Arthur followed, but only briefly, hitching Clover up just outside the motel. He fed her a few more treats, promised that he would be back soon, and then made his way inside.

The man behind the counter looked at him briefly, the smallest flicker of what seemed annoyance crossing his face. “Can I help you?”

“I need a bath,” Arthur dug the quarter out of his pocket, slapping it down on the counter.

“You sure do,” the man muttered under his breath.

“I heard that.”

“Good for you, your ears work,” the man scoffed, taking the money. “Down the hall, on the right. It'll be ready in a few.”

Lovely folk they had here. Arthur trudged down the hall, digging out his journal, sketching the crude man while he waited. He followed it with a short thought, writing until the water was ready. He had been reluctant at first, but now he was happy Dutch had made him do this. The water was warm, refreshing, and he spent some time simply soaking in the heat. He turned down the offer of help, spent the next several minutes scrubbing off the dirt, washing away the grime. He hadn't been this clean in a long while. It was almost a shame to put dirty clothes back on, but he figured he could change back at camp.

Across the street from the motel was a barber, an actual shop dedicated to just cutting hair. That cost him a few dollars, but he was clean shaven, his hair trimmed up neat in the way he rather preferred it. Not like John, who's hair was already past his ears and had thrown a stink when they had tried to get it cut. Arthur thanked the man who seemed a bit friendly then the first, putting his hat back on. The next stop was the general store, a few more dollars spent, packing the peppermints into his pocket.

That entire process had taken a little over an hour, and Arthur made his way to the saloon, pushing inside, looking for Dutch. Arthur wasn't quite old enough to be in here, truthfully, but he had always been big and tall, and no one had questioned him in years. It seemed like the same would take place here. No one even glanced his way. Arthur frowned, letting out a sigh. No sign of Dutch. What a surprise.

Half of him was tempted to head back out, to walk the street and see if he could find him. But no...Dutch had said to meet him here, and no doubt would be cross if he chose not listen. No reason to irritate him more, he decided.

He made his way to the counter, ordering a whiskey as he looked at the menu. Breakfast had been simple that morning, and it was nearing noon, his stomach growling in reminder. He settled on the lambs fry, a price that nearly wiped out the rest of his money. But it was good. Now all he had to do was wait.

Out came his journal again, Arthur taking to the pages, sketching the saloon, the bartender, jotting down some more thoughts, a jumble of ideas. Anything to pass the time. Another hour, and still nothing...where the hell was that man?

A whistle caught his attention, Arthur glancing up to the corner were a couple of men sat. The skinnier of the two, the one that had whistled, was waving him over. “Come on over; come join in.”

Poker...he was never a fan of the cards. He knew how to play because Hosea had taught him, and he usually lost to the older man. Arthur let out a sigh, moving to his feet. At least it would help pass the time.

“Don't have much money,” he apologized, dropping the dollar down, the money replaced by chips. The cards were shuffled and passed, Arthur glancing down at his hand. A six of hearts, a two of clubs. Terrible.

“Been sitting there a while, now” the skinnier man, who had introduced himself as Roy, said.

“Supposed to meet up with my cousin,” Arthur explained loosely, folding as the bet came back round to him. “He was never good with time.”

The lie came easily. They were cousins, all extended family, had lost their jobs when their factory closed, and were just passing through, looking for work. More bets were placed, three cards flipped. A queen of hearts, a seven of clubs, an ace of diamonds. Clive, the other man, folded, much to Roy's delight, collecting the meager pot of fourteen cents.

“They're looking for drivers,” Roy suggested, shuffling the cards. This time he had a nine of hearts, a queen of diamonds. Much better.

“What sort of drivers?” Arthur wondered, putting in a bet.

“Well, sure you saw the wagons when you came in. Most folk are working the mill, or up in the hills cutting the trees. Trying to find someone to drive them, well, they ain't having much luck.”

He couldn't care less about driving wagons. It was idle chatter, something to pass the time while he waited. Where the hell was Dutch?

A nine of clubs, a seven of hearts, a ten of clubs. That gave him two pair. He raised the bet a little, was matched by both men.

“No one knows how to drive?” Arthur wondered, feigning interest. An ace of spades. Clive raised the bet this time, ten cents. He paused, debated, then matched.

“They won't pay much. They pay more for the banking coaches, but that's more dangerous,” Roy went on. The last card, a two of spades. Arthur checked, so did the others. He had a two pair, so did Roy, the man sporting twin sevens. For a moment he was sure he had taken the hand, but the Clive showed his hand. A pair of aces. Damn.

“Not surprising,” Arthur mumbled, shuffling the cards. “Seems like banking coaches get shot all the time now, even with the hired guns.”

“You hear about the one back east? They had what, three or four extra men, all gunned down. Thieves are getting dangerous, I'm telling you,” Clive shook his head as Arthur dealt.

Yeah, he had heard about that. It had been Colm's gang. So Dutch had said. Arthur knew the man, had met him more than once, understood that Colm and Dutch used to be friends, long ago. They had gone their separate ways, but even so they had crossed paths more than once. Colm frightened him, if he was being honest. The man seemed unhinged.

He had to be...taken on a guarded stage like that? Stages were dangerous. Dutch and Hosea both had drilled it into his head that more often than not that the risk usually wasn't worth the reward. He had done a few, years ago, when source information had been promising. An eccentric man by the name of Trelawny had become friends with Dutch, had passed certain tidbits along. Each time, the score had been good. But that was back then, when they were mostly unguarded. Times were changing now...

“Well yeah,” Roy agreed to Clive's statement. New cards this time, a pair of jacks. Very nice. Arthur raised the bet. “That's why they're getting clever; the banking coaches don't have guards anymore.”

“How is that clever?” Clive wondered, flipping three cards over. A three of diamonds, a nine of spades, a king of hearts. Arthur agreed with Clive, almost said so out loud, but he bit his lip. No guards? That was downright stupid.

“Guards draw attention,” Roy explained slowly, as though he was talking to a child. “No, they've been putting the money in an old rundown wagon, dressing the drivers up like peasants, and sending them on their way. Thieves reckon they ain't worth the trouble.”

“Until they figure it out,” Arthur mused. He raised the bet again, watching as Clive folded. Roy matched him.

“Maybe...but most thieves ain't too bright. They're watching for the banking wagon, not a farmer's old beaten thing.”

A third jack came up. Damn, if he didn't win this hand... “All in,” he pushed the remaining chunk in.

He saw Roy hesitate, but then the man laughed, met his bet. Arthur placed his cards down with a smile, laughing as Roy swore, tossing down his cards, a pair of kings. The last card was flipped, a six of spades. The pot was his. He had made back his dollar, plus a little more.

“Having fun?”

He jumped at the voice, glancing over his shoulder. “Cousin,” he stammered out quickly, before Dutch could say more. “I was just-”

“I know what you were just doing,” Dutch cut him off, tipping his hat towards the others. “Gentleman.” He motioned for Arthur to follow, drawing him out to the front, back to the street.

“Where have you been?” Arthur wondered.

“Been chasing leads, Arthur,” the man chastised him, “something you should be doing, as opposed to wasting time.”

“You told me to wait in the saloon,” he pointed out, mounting Clover. Was Dutch really going to dig him for doing as he was told?

“I said I would meet you in the saloon; I expected you would take some initiative and find something out. Not waste your money on that.”

“I came out ahead,” he defended himself. Probably a poor defense, but one none the less. Dutch took the lead down the street, Arthur nudging Clover to catch up with him.

“At least you look somewhat decent now,” Dutch commented, “Hardly recognized you.”  
  


“So what did you find out?” Arthur ignored that last jibe.

“There's some good leads here,” the man nodded towards him as they turned the corner. “They're buying land, trying to expand; Hosea has some knowledge in real estate, so I'll let him look at that. There's also talk of gold, up in the hills; Trelawny has some skills in fake shares, I'll send a letter out his way, see if we hear back from him.”

“Gold?” Arthur wondered, “Is that true?”

“Probably not,” Dutch shook his head. “Someone would have found something by now, but nothing excites fools like the thought of gold.”

True enough; it had excited him, that was for sure.

“So,” Dutch cut into his thoughts, “What did you learn, if anything, might I inquire?”

“Not much,” Arthur shook his head. “They're looking for drivers, but I heard something about a banking coach...”

“No Arthur,” Dutch shook his head, “Stages are dangerous enough, especially when the bank's involved.”

“But-”

  
  
“I said no,” the man cut him off, harsher this time. Arthur scoffed, frowning. Damn him, he wouldn't even listen.

“You want to stop at the stable?” The man asked suddenly, changing the topic. It was up ahead, larger than some of the others he had seen.

“Not really in the mood,” Arthur ground out. Normally he would, but it was different now. He didn't want to see what he would be missing out on.

“Oh stop sulking, it really is unbecoming,” Dutch all but lectured him. “Let's see what they have; see if we can find something up to your standards.”  
  


Arthur pulled Clover to a stop, trying but failing to keep the anger out of his voice. “I don't need no charity.”

Dutch would never let him live it down. Would bring it up at every opportunity. That was not something he wanted, and he refused to be pulled into that, no matter how much he wanted a new horse.

Dutch had brought King to a stop as well, had turned to face him, the man shaking his head. “That's how you're going to be about all this?”

Arthur didn't grace that with a response, teeth clenched tight as he met Dutch's gaze. The older man sighed.

“I don't know what has gotten into you, Arthur, but it needs to stop. I'm quite done with it.”

As was he. But he wouldn't say that. Couldn't say it, heaven help him where he would be if he did. He ground his teeth, thrusting the anger down as far as it could go, answered in what he hoped was a level voice.

“I'll get a horse with my own money.”

“You're own money?” Dutch laughed lightly, rolling his eyes. “The same money you're wasting on poker? That's a good one.”

“Get out of the damn road!” the yell actually made him jump, Arthur turning to see the wagon lined up behind them. He was quick in nudging Clover out of the way, Dutch following suit but not before bidding the man to have a fine day in a sarcastic tone.

“So, are we going to go in or what?” Dutch wondered, his attention back on him.

Arthur shook his head, “Let's just get back to camp.”

“Whatever you say,” the man scoffed, taking the lead. Arthur held back, wanting some distance between them, before coaxing Clover into a trot. He had a feeling it was going to be a long ride back to camp.


	5. By the Fireside

“You really could not have gone a few hours without yelling at him?” Hosea wondered. The pair had just come back, and it hadn't taken long for him to notice something was amiss. Arthur had ridden into camp looking cleaner than when he had left, but that had made it all the easier to spot the anger in his eyes. Hosea had tried to talk with him, had tried to prod, but had been met with a wall of silence, the lad taking to his tent almost immediately.

“Whatever he told you it's surely an exaggeration,” Dutch countered him, tending to the horses. Arthur hadn't bothered to stay and look after Clover, had simply left her there, the fact he couldn't stand to be near Dutch a moment longer more than obvious.

“He hasn't told me anything,” Hosea pointed out. “But only an idiot would believe that nothing happened. So you tell me.”

“I can't win, Hosea, I really can't,” Dutch shook his head. “Whatever I do it's not enough. I brought him to town like you suggested. I gave him the opportunity to find a lead, and what does he do? Wastes his time and money on some poker. I point that out, it makes him mad. I try to lighten the mood, tease him a little, that just makes things worse. I try to be kind, offer to look at some horses, he all but loses his mind.”

“Yes, I can only imagine that being called a fool, being teased and then attempted bribery is exactly how I would want to spend the day as well.”

“Not you too,” Dutch let out a sigh, hoisting the saddle off of King's back. “I'm already dealing with enough attitude from Arthur, I don't need you encouraging him.”

“What would you have me do?” Hosea wondered, “Beat it out of him?”

Arthur had always been difficult. Ever since they first picked the kid up. Hosea hadn't been so sure of the idea at first, but Dutch had been persistent. Had insisted things would be fine. And slowly, ever so slowly, Hosea had fallen in love with the boy. 

He knew that Dutch loved him too, but also knew that Dutch struggled to show that love, preferring to hide behind fancy words. The end result was a mess similar to this. And it was unfair of Dutch to just presume Arthur would suddenly change after all this time. It was even worse if Dutch was simply just giving up on him.

“If you think that would help,” Dutch answered, his attention on Clover now. “Stupid boy wants a new horse and he won't even take care of the one he has now.”

“Arthur takes good care of her,” Hosea shook his head. This had been the one exception for quite some time now. But he doubted Dutch noticed, or even cared. No, he was rather more upset at the fact that he himself had to do it this one time. 

“I tried, Hosea,” Dutch defended himself, “told me he doesn't want charity, that he'll buy a horse himself. What would you have me do? We can take John's horse away, give it to him. Maybe that'll finally make him happy.”

Back to the horse again. It was like talking to a wall. Dutch prided himself on being smart, an intellectual, and yet the man couldn't understand the simple fact that this was about more than just some horse. And until he did, the relationship he had built with Arthur would be going nowhere but backwards. 

Hosea let out a sigh, waving his hand, done with the conversation, leaving Dutch to his task. He would try again later, when things had calmed down. Maybe get him to understand then, hopefully before too much damage was done. For now he kept himself occupied, a few glances over towards Arthur's tent, hoping the boy would come out sooner rather than later, but there seemed to be no such luck.

By nightfall Hosea found himself reading in front of the fire, the atmosphere around him falling silent as everyone else fell asleep. Well, maybe not everyone. John was sprawled out on the ground near him, head in the man's lap, small fingers fiddling with the pocket watch, snapping the lid closed, before opening it again. 

“You can sell this,” John told him quietly, tapping on the face with one finger. “I used to steal stuff like this all the time; always got a good few dollars for them.”

“True as that may be, we're not selling it,” Hosea chided him, not even looking up from his book. It had been his mother's. Had taken it with him when he had gone off on his own. It was old, had been repaired more than once, and even so still showed the wear and tear. Not that John was doing any favors with it now as the boy opened and closed it again.

“What you even need a watch for?”

“So I know what time it is,” Hosea mused, turning a page.

“But you can just look and see,” John argued, “you don't need stupid numbers telling you.”

“I need those stupid numbers to tell me when it's time for you to go to bed,” Hosea glanced down at him. “That was about an hour ago, and yet you continue to grace me with your presence.”

“It hasn't been an hour,” the kid argued, opening the cover again. He studied the watch, squinting as he brought it closer to his face. “It's been...” John trailed off, counting under his breath. They had been working on numbers, had been practicing his letters. Usually it was a battle to get him to do anything, now he was doing it willingly just to prove a point. 

“Forty-five minutes,” he announced smugly. “Not an hour.”

“And pray tell me, what time is it currently?”

He went back to reading, waiting for the response. It took a few minutes, the boy once again studying the numbers. “Eleven...forty-five?”

Hosea shook his head, pointing to the numbers. “Ten forty-five...almost eleven. Well past your bedtime.”

“But that one points to the hour,” John showed him the watch, “It's almost to the eleven.”

“Almost, but not quite,” Hosea explained, “Still past your bedtime. Now go to sleep, before I chase you back to the tent.”

Truth be told the kid should already be in the tent. But Hosea had a soft spot for children it seemed. John had begged him, had not wanted to be alone. He had relented, promised the kid could sit with him as long as he went to sleep. That deal was not going so well at the moment. 

After the argument, Dutch had taken to his tent with Susan, saying he needed to blow off some stress. It didn't take a genius to understand what he was alluding too. And they hadn't been exactly discreet about things either. It had left Hosea alone to deal with John, to see after the camp, to throw some supper together for him and the boy.

Arthur still had not come out of his tent, and Hosea didn't pester him. Had kept John from nosing around as well, giving the young man some space. No doubt he needed it; Arthur seemed to be going through a bit of a rough spot recently. It wasn't the first time, and the way things were going, Hosea doubted it would be the last.

“When are we going to do something exciting?” John wondered.

“What do you mean?” Hosea knew he shouldn't be encouraging him. The kid would never go to sleep at this rate. But he had to admit that it was nice to have someone to talk to. 

“You know, like...rob someone.”

“Dutch and I rob plenty of people, don't you worry.”

“You two talk,” the kid sighed, “A lot...and it's boring.”

“You might find it boring,” Hosea mused, “But we make money, and no one gets shot.”

“But can't we do more? Like, rob a house or something?”

“You're far too young for that stuff.”

“I've already been robbing houses,” John argued.

“I know,” Hosea nodded thoughtfully, “that's what got you into trouble in the first place.”

“Weren't my fault,” John muttered. “I would have gotten away with it if it weren't for that stupid goat.”

“They were already onto you, even before the goat,” Hosea responded, seeing the movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned, watching as Arthur ducked out of his tent, the young man standing there a moment, eyes darting to where Dutch's tent was.

“He's long asleep,” he encouraged the lad, “no need to fret. Come have a seat.”

It was sad, the reassurance he had to give. The fact that Arthur would willingly wait in his tent so as not face the other. Normally they couldn't get him to stay still. 

“There's some pork by the fire, if you're hungry.”

He had saved that for him, wrapped in a bit of cloth, hoping he would come out. Arthur nodded his thanks, fetching the meat before sitting down on the other side of him. He had changed into clean clothes, black pants, a simple blue shirt, and that mixed with the fact he had shaved and cut his hair left him looking like a whole new person. 

“You look nice,” Hosea complimented him, before glancing down at John. “Mr. Marston, you can learn something from Arthur here. A bath and some clean clothes go a long ways.”

“I don't mind being dirty,” the kid muttered, playing with the watch once more. 

“Well the rest of us do,” Arthur retorted, chewing a bit of meat.

“Try and be somewhat civilized, Arthur,” Hosea reprimanded him, “Don't talk with your mouth full.”

“Civilized? We're outlaws.”

“We might be outlaws, but we're not barbarians.”

“Yeah,” John echoed him, “we're not barbarians.”

“Boys,” Hosea shook his head, a sigh escaping him as Arthur stuck out his tongue at John, a gesture that only caused the kid to laugh and do the same. He was surrounded by children.

“Isn't it a little late for you to be up?”

“Hosea said I could,” John stated, pushing himself up.

“I did no such thing,” he countered, pushing the kid back down. “Go to sleep you little hellion, this is your last warning.”

There was a bit of a protest, that turned into a whine as Hosea hushed him. John grumbled, something unheard under his breath, but he closed his eyes. It was a start at least.

“So, I gather today was rough?”

Part of him thought it was better to avoid bringing it up at all. But Hosea knew that things wouldn't just disappear if he pretended it never happened. And better to speak of it now before Dutch decided to bring it up, heaven help him. 

“It wasn't too bad,” Arthur shrugged his shoulder, using his knife to slice off another bit of meat. “Town's decent, most of the folk there seem nice. Motel clerk is a jerk, I'd avoid him if I was you.”

“Good to know,” Hosea mused. It didn't tell him too much, but at least he was talking.

“Saloon had some good food though.”

“I heard you played some poker?”

“I won at poker,” Arthur corrected him. Hosea laughed, grinning at that comment. Good for him.

“Seems like I taught you something then.”

“Oh you've taught me a lot,” he shook his head, “I just didn't listen to most of it.”

“Truer words never spoken.”

Arthur laughed, cleaning his knife off before putting it away. “Did Dutch tell you he found some leads?”

“Dutch and I haven't....discussed many plans yet,” Hosea chose his words tactfully. They hadn't talked about much to be honest; most of the evening had been spent arguing. 

“Yeah, I know,” Arthur nodded, gaze in his lap. 

He let out a sigh. “I gather you heard?”

“Well, it's not like you two were being discreet about it.”

Hosea let out a breath. Damn. How much had he heard?

“It's fine, Hosea,” Arthur must have seen the look on his face. “I ain't a kid anymore, I don't need to be coddled.”

“Wanting to be treated respectfully is not coddling, Arthur.”

“Maybe not,” the man shrugged, “but you can't change what's done.”

“No,” Hosea agreed, “Just try not to think too much about what Dutch says. He says a lot; it's a gift of his. And half of what he says isn't even true.”

“I suppose,” Arthur agreed, “at any rate, I have you, so I figure I'm somewhat in good hands.”

“Well then you really are screwed.”

He heard Arthur laugh at that, a good solid laugh; it was a comforting sound. They sat there for a while, neither of them talking, just watching the fire. The warmth was comforting, especially with the chill of the night. 

“So...what leads did Dutch find?”

“Said he was going to have you look into some real estate stuff,” Arthur shrugged, “And talk to Trelawny, something about fake gold shares.”

“Ah,” Hosea nodded, “that's right up that man's alley. Dutch knows where he is?”

“I don't know; said he was going to mail a letter. Didn't really tell me much more.”

Dutch was often like that. The man was a quick thinker, was always scheming, thinking of plans in his head the moment they came into view; not sharing anything until the last moment. Hosea was slower, more practical, liked to write his stuff down, liked to test the waters. Dutch preferred to simply jump in. 

“Anything else?”

“Not really,” Arthur shook his head, hesitating just then, “Well, I did overhear something.”

“Oh?”

“About a banking stage,” he put out tentatively. “I tried to tell Dutch but...”

“You know how he feels about that,” Hosea shook his head. Robbing stages...yeah, they had done that before. Years back, Arthur was about fifteen, maybe sixteen back then. The three of them could work wonders. But that was before drivers started to wise up, started to truly arm themselves. Before they started hiring extra guns. The group had pulled away from robbing stages, had focused more on running schemes. 

“I know,” Arthur agreed, “But this sounds like a good opportunity.”

“Alright,” Hosea relented. “Let's hear it.”

He had seemed so eager, even more so now as he sat up, leaning in close. “There's no guards.”

“There's always guards,” Hosea corrected him, “especially for a banking stage.”

“But see, that's the thing. They don't want to draw attention. I heard they're putting the money in an old farmhand's wagon. While everyone is looking for the fancy, heavily guarded coach, they slip in unseen.”

It could be possible, Hosea mused. Not probable, surely no, but he had to admit it was intriguing. “You hear when this stage is supposed to be coming through?”

Arthur paused a moment before shaking his head. “Dutch had me leave before I could hear. I just...I want to help out more, be able to contribute.”

“You have,” Hosea reassured him, “and you will. I'll tell you what, Dutch and I are headed into town tomorrow, and I'll keep an ear open, see if I can find out more. If it's a solid lead...maybe we'll have you be the one running it. But only if we're all in agreement. Understand?”

Dutch was going to kill him for this. But he would take that risk, especially seeing the look on the lad's face. He was ecstatic. Maybe too ecstatic. He wasn't even sure if this was a real lead; and worse yet, would Dutch even agree to it?

“Promise me you'll do nothing unless I say so,” he warned, taking on a serious tone, one he reserved for moments like this. 

“Don't worry about me, old man,” Arthur let the joke slip. “I may be dense, but I ain't that stupid.”

“Good lad,” he clasped him on the shoulder. “It's getting late, we should probably get some rest. Would you do me a favor and get this little gremlin to bed for me?” He motioned down to John who had finally fallen asleep in his lap. His leg going numb was proof of that. 

“Sure,” Arthur stepped around him, scooping the boy up with ease. Arthur had grown quite a bit since they had first met, had filled out, was quite strong. A few more years and he'd be formidable, putting Hosea to shame. Dutch as well, most likely. It was hard to imagine, the difference between then and now. Oh what memories they had. 

He bid Arthur a good night, marking the spot in his book so he could finish reading tomorrow, and then turned in himself. Because tomorrow, they were going to town. And he had to figure out how to explain to Dutch exactly what he had just done.

* * *

He wasn't pleased. That much was certain. He had said no, had expected that to be the end of it. For the idea to be forgotten. Yet Arthur had the audacity to bring it up, behind his back none-the-less. Once again doing whatever the damn well he pleased...

“Calm down, Dutch,” Hosea chided him. Calm? He was calm. Perfectly calm...

“I'll talk with him when we get back,” he muttered, trying to let it go. Hosea had waited until they were on the road, nearly halfway into town before bringing the subject up. Curse him as well for conspiring with Arthur...

“No you won't,” Hosea retorted, surprising him. Dutch glanced his way, a frown on his face. It only caused the older man to laugh. 

“You can't seriously be entertaining this crazy idea of his.”

“It's worth looking into,” Hosea still had a smile on his face. “He found a tip, something we might be able to work with. He's trying; the least you can do is pretend to care.”

“It's because I care,” Dutch shook his head. “A few years back, then sure, let's rob a banking stage. But you know times have changed. A few years from now, let Arthur get some experience, then with John sure...maybe the four of us could take one, but not right now.”

“And how is he going to get that experience if you never let him?” Hosea pressed.

“It's not like that, and you know it,” Dutch ground out. “Aside from that, you must have lost your mind if you think the first solo job of his is to rob a banking stage.”

“I'm not saying he'll do it alone,” Hosea argued. “Just that if it's a good lead, if it's good, then let him make the plans. Correct him where he's wrong, but let him learn.”

“If you want him to do this so badly, then why the hell are we looking into it?” Dutch grumbled. He still felt the other was insane for even suggesting, was still angry at the fact that Hosea was encouraging such reckless behavior. He was surprised when Hosea pulled Scout to a stop, and he quickly stopped King as well, much to the animal's protests. He turned back around so he was facing the other. 

“Because,” Hosea's voice was tight, “right now Arthur is so damn desperate for your approval he'll run with any idea regardless of how reckless it is. At least with the two of us looking into it, we'll be able to tell if it's legit.”

Arthur wanted his approval? Since when the hell did the man care about that? He had been flippant, indolent and irresponsible as of late. Worse than what he had seen in years; a petulant child even...Dutch shook his head, letting out a sigh. Despite all of that he had promised Hosea he would try. Heaven help him for doing this. 

“Fine...we'll look into.”

“That's all I'm asking for,” Hosea nodded, a smile on his face. “See Dutch, you can still be reasonable.”

The man nudged Scout into a trot, leaving him behind. Dutch shook his head. Arthur could be an idiot at times, but right now, he felt like the biggest idiot of them all. He clicked his tongue, moving to match the other's pace. Reasonable...this idea was insane, there was nothing else to it. 


	6. Reading and Riding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to all those still reading. This chapter is mostly fluff which I kind of enjoyed writing. Enjoy!

“Oh come on,” Grimshaw's voice was shrill, making him wince, even though he was clear on the other side of camp. “You know that word. Try again.”

Arthur almost felt sorry for John. Almost...Grimshaw was not the most patient teacher, and she had little love for books. But she had promised Dutch and Hosea she would help him with his reading. There hadn't been much time for that as of late, and John had started to fall out of practice.

“Why do I gotta?” the boy whined. His arms were folded across his chest, slumped over in a chair, lip stuck out in a pathetic pout. A routine the kid always tried to get out of learning.

“Cause I'll knock your ears off if you don't,” the woman threatened.

Mildly Arthur wondered if that was even possible. He glanced back down at his journal, chewing on his bottom lip as he ran the pencil over the paper. Needed a little more shading there and...done. He held it out at arms length, glancing between the picture and John...not a bad likeness. Of course, not the most flattering picture of the kid, but he had to admit there was some humor there. He chuckled, scribbling the words _'reading lessons? More like acting lessons'_ underneath.

“If you think this is so amusing you come deal with him,” Grimshaw snapped at him. Arthur met her gaze, eyes wide. Was she talking to him?

“Yes you,” she waved him over. “I don't have time for this, I have a camp to run.”

Arthur let out a sigh. Now he had to teach the kid to read? There went his afternoon. With a sigh he closed his journal, making his way over to John. “Come on, kid. It ain't that hard.”

“Reading is stupid,” John argued, “and boring. I don't need to read to steal stuff.”

“Well you ain't stealing stuff right now anyways,” Arthur scolded him, grabbing the book. It was a tattered old thing, worn down with half the cover missing. The same book they had practiced on with Arthur. Being on the move like this they couldn't necessarily afford to waste money buying children's books. This book had been found somewhere during a robbery, had been held onto.

“Sides,” he continued, sitting down next to the boy, “what if Dutch and Hosea need to leave us a letter? You gots to be able to read then.”

“I'll just have you read it,” John shrugged his shoulders.

“And if I ain't here?”

Another shrug. Arthur flipped open the book, showing it to John. “Come on; read this page for me, and I'll take you out riding.”

He wasn't beneath bribery. And it worked, John sitting up quickly. “Really?”

Kid had been bugging him for a while now. Couldn't get enough of riding ever since getting the damn horse. Arthur had taken him out twice since being here, just down the road and back. But he had wanted more, had kept begging...

“You have to read it all,” Arthur coaxed him. “You got this, come on.”

Arthur could remember back to his lessons. He hadn't wanted to read either, had felt the same way. Had spent fourteen years of his life not being able to read more than his name. Didn't have a use for it. Now though...now he was grateful Dutch and Hosea had drilled it into him, glad they hadn't just given up, that they had pushed him. And he would do the same for John. Kid might hate it now, but he would appreciate it when he was older.

“So Rose ran to look...oh....oh...” he stumbled on the word.

“Sound it out,” Arthur nodded, “you know what letter that is. Think about what sound it makes.”

“Over?”

He nodded, prompting him to continue.

“Over her bocks.”

“Books,” Arthur corrected him.

“Is that enough?” he glanced up, leaving Arthur to frown.

“You read one sentence.”

“Yeah,” John agreed, “you said-”  
  


“The whole page,” he motioned back down, tapping the sentence where they had left off. John sighed, head dropping into his hands as he started on the next sentence. Christ the kid was a slow reader. But he was trying...stumbling over the words. And finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he finished the last word with a smile, looking up at him.

“See,” Arthur smiled, “I told you got this.”

“Can we go riding now?”

“Yes,” he let out a sigh, “We can go riding, but not for long. Dutch and Hosea should be back soon.”

With news, he hoped. Hosea had promised to look into that lead. He hoped it turned out to be good. John let out a laugh, jumping off the chair and scampering across the camp, Arthur following close behind.

“Not too far,” Grimshaw hollered at them.

“We won't,” Arthur reassured her. After the hunting fiasco, he hadn't dared taking John more than hollering distance from camp. It left them going in a lot of circles, but the kid didn't seem to mind. He had to help John saddle Big Girl, but once that was done the kid waved him away, wanting to mount up himself.

Arthur was skeptical, but pleasantly surprised as John led Big Girl closer to a boulder. The kid clambered up on the rock, using the added height to pull himself into the saddle. He was a quick learner. A few more minutes and Arthur was on Clover, and they rode out together.

“Can we race?” John begged him as soon as they were out on the road. Arthur let out a sigh. He wasn't a fan of racing, especially with Clover. The last few times he had raced anyone had left him in miserable defeat.

“I don't know kid,” he shrugged. “How about we just ride to the pond and back?”

The pond was up the road on the way to town. A small little thing where ducks liked to congregate; John liked the noises they made, had spent near an hour laughing at them the first time they had gone there. Plus there were some toads there; Arthur fancied he might try and draw one just for practice.

“We can race there?” He pleaded again. Damn...why was he so hard to say no to? Arthur let out a sigh.

“Alright...just don't push her too hard. The last thing we need is for you to be thrown and have you break your damn neck.”

He had barely said the words when John took off, urging Big Girl into a gallop. Arthur followed suit with Clover, keeping close, but never trying to overtake. Figured he'd let the kid win, and besides that, there was no way Clover could outrun John's horse. Soon enough they rounded the corner, the pond in sight, a group of ducks taking off in a mess of feathers and noise. He could hear the kid laughing, either at the sound or the fact he had won Arthur wasn't sure. Both maybe. He laughed himself, easing Clover into a trot as he joined the kid.

“You're getting good at riding,” he nodded, noting the proud smile on the boy's face. “Why don't you take her around the pond a few times?”

“Okay,” John nudged her into a trot, staying near the water's edge. Arthur stayed on top of Clover, patting her flank, offering a peppermint for her efforts. He pulled out his journal, sketching John on top of Big Girl as they looped the pond. He liked drawing, felt like it captured the moment, helped him remember certain things.

“You know something?” John called out to him as he came back around.

“What's that?”

“I can't swim.”

“Really?” Arthur glanced up at him. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to have him so close to the water....

“I fell into a river once. Almost drowned. Least that's what I was told. I woke up coughing so hard my chest hurt. Some stranger had pulled me out, took me to an orphanage. I stayed long enough till I felt better, than I ran off.”

“I can teach you,” he offered. But John was shaking his head.

  
“No...oh no. I ain't going in any water if I can help it.”

“That why you kick up such a fuss when they try and make you take a bath?”

Now it made sense. He just figured the kid had an aversion to being clean. But something like that...it could mess you up. It was why he didn't like being touched; all those damn years his father spent beating him. He pushed the memory from his head, scowling. He didn't have to worry about that no more. No matter how much he and Dutch argued, the man had never once hurt him. Had promised to never hurt him...

“Look,” John pointed along the road, Arthur following his gaze. The two men were easy to spot, especially Hosea on top of his large Shire. He saw them wave, Arthur returning the gesture even as John urged Big Girl into a cantor towards them. Arthur followed, meeting up with group soon after.

“What are you boys up to,” Dutch wondered. For a moment Arthur wondered if the man was going to be upset at the fact they were away from camp, but the unease lessened soon after. Dutch seemed to be making genuine conversation. He wasn't be accusatory.

“Me and Arthur had a race,” John announced excited. “I won!”

“You did?” Dutch seemed pleased by that, glancing towards him. “Well, Arthur was never much of a rider.”

So this old joke again. He shook his head, unable and unwilling to come back with a jab of his own. The man didn't seem to notice; that or he simply didn't care. Either was possible.

“Well, how about we give you a real challenge, see if you can beat old Hosea and me back?”

“You two go on ahead,” Hosea turned down the offer, “I think Scout here needs a bit of a break. Arthur will keep me company, won't you?”

“Sure.” He didn't want to lose yet another race he had no chance of winning at.

“Have it your way then,” Dutch replied, attention turning to John, instructing him on the rules. No false starts, and the first one back would get an extra candy bar for dessert. A countdown from three, and the pair were off, disappearing into the distance. Hosea and Arthur kept a leisurely pace, riding back together.

“Thank you,” he nodded towards him. It needed to be said. Hosea shrugged, pretending not to know what he was talking about.

“I figure they can have fun. I'm getting too old for that.”

“Too old for fun?” Arthur mused, glancing at him. “You're never too old for that.”

“Maybe...but that stuff? That's for the youngin's.”

“You calling me old now?”

“Of course not,” Hosea glanced at him. “But Clover might disagree, huh old girl?”

She tossed her head at his voice, almost as if in agreement. Arthur patted her side, “She's got life in her yet.”

“Oh I know; she's a good girl. I just wish she could have been John's; they'd be excellent together.”

Arthur let out a sigh, “I'm over that Hosea.”

“I know,” the man defended himself, “but I know how much you want a new one. I hear that you want to buy one with your own money?”

Arthur swallowed, remember that conversation. “I just...I want the next one to be mine,” he tried to explain it. “Not that I don't appreciate everything you guys have done for me...but-”

“I understand,” Hosea cut him off. “I remember the first horse I bought. How proud I was. He was a fine horse; a Turkoman, named him Turkey.”

“You named your horse Turkey?”

“I never said I was smart back then,” Hosea pointed out. “My brilliance came later. He was a good horse. Shame what happened.”

“What happened?”

“I was riding out along a ridge. It was a beautiful day; could see for miles. Figured I'd do some hunting, came across some turkeys. Real turkeys, not my Turkey. Went to fire my gun, but a deer had caught scent of me. Had spooked, sent the turkeys into a frenzy. My Turkey panicked, bucked me, took off running. Watched as he went straight over the cliff. Had him for one damn week.”

He couldn't help the laugh, trying to stifle it with a hand over his mouth. “Your horse Turkey was killed by wild turkeys?”

“Well technically it was the fall that killed him. Lost everything with him, miles from any civilization. Took me until the morning to get back to the nearest town. Spent the rest of the money getting drunk after that. Wasn't too funny then...but you have to admit that it has a certain charm now.”

“I'm sorry,” Arthur offered the meek apology, but the image still had him cracking up. He would definitely have to write about this in his journal later on tonight. They continued on, seeing the treeline in front of them. They would be back at camp soon.

He wanted to ask about his lead, had been dying to know. Part of him wondered if Hosea had even mentioned it to Dutch. The man had seemed far too complacent. Maybe he had shot the idea down totally, and Hosea had yet to tell him the bad news. He so badly wanted to know...but he was afraid to ask. So he asked the next best thing.

“So how'd you two get along?”

“Good,” Hosea nodded, “real fine. The real estate thing has some good promise. The Vanderthews Company has bought up a fine share of land, or will have, once I make the documents. We should be able to sell them to unsuspecting fools for a decent price. Lower than what other companies are selling them, a deal no one can pass up. With any luck, by the time they notice they've been duped, we'll be long gone.”

“The Vanderthews Company?” he raised an eyebrow, looking at Hosea. The man laughed, a smile cracking his face.

“What? I think it's a fine name.”

“For a storybook, sure,” Arthur shook his head. “Not sure how many folk will believe it.”

“That's the beauty of it son. Anyone dumb enough to not question it won't question why we're selling land for so cheap. It's perfect.”

“If you say so,” Arthur wasn't so sure. But then again that was why Hosea was in charge of these things. Arthur wasn't smart enough for that.

“But what about-” he started to ask about the stage, but Hosea cut him off.

“The gold? Dutch sent off a letter to Trelawny. Or at least to where he thinks Trelawny is. We'll give it a week, see if we hear anything back. There might be something there, but I'm not so sure on that.”

“Okay,” he guessed that was a start. “Did you talk about-”

“Of course,” Hosea nodded.

“And?”

“Well, it was tough, but Dutch and I think we've found a jacket that might actually fit John.”

What the hell did that have to do with anything? He must have had a look on his face, because Hosea was laughing in the next moment.

“I'm sorry,” he shook his head, reaching over to pat Arthur on the shoulder. “I couldn't help myself.”

“Hosea,” he complained, but found himself laughing as well. “Come on. Did you and Dutch...find anything?”

He waited, Hosea quiet, watching him. They had all but stopped in the road, and Arthur found his heart skipping a beat. The silence stretched, and he began to worry, began to brace himself for the bad news.

“Maybe.”

He let out a breath, trying not to get excited. “Maybe?”

“Heard a few people talking about it in the saloon when we took lunch. One of them was a fellow who works in the bank.”

“So it's true?” He couldn't believe it. An unguarded banking stage? That could be a solid score, and it would be his. He would take the largest cut, would finally have something solid to contribute. Maybe enough to get a horse...

“We'll talk with Dutch when we get in,” Hosea reassured him. “You're going to be running lead on this, but....” he drew in a breath, waiting till Arthur met his gaze again, “we get the final say in this. If we think it's too dangerous...end of the discussion. You hear me? You don't argue on this one.”

“Deal,” Arthur was all too happy to agree. But he doubted it would come to that. The fact the pair had looked into, that Dutch was entertaining the idea...that was proof enough. They urged their horses on again, falling back into an easy conversation, but Arthur hardly paid attention, too excited at the prospect that was coming his way. For once, he was going to be able to do something right.


	7. Making Plans

Dutch had been reluctant at first. It had taken time, some prodding to get him to warm to the idea. Of course the first part of the day had been looking into the land, seeing what it was being sold for. Followed by quiet conversations down an alley of what they may be able to do with that information. Then they had taken time to send off a letter, had gone to the saloon for some lunch, to take a bit of a rest. Hosea had heard the talk first, had motioned for Dutch, nodding towards the pair.

Dutch had wasted little time in interjecting into the conversation, putting on his best charm, spinning a intricate tale. How marvelous it was to watch him work. It hadn't taken long before they were eating together, discussing the virtues of life, or some other nonsense as it was. And of course, the strange rumors of a bank stage hidden in the open, virtually unguarded. So there had been some truth to it.

Then more discussion followed after. Dutch had agreed it was possible. The earlier anger was gone, the man seemingly more amicable as they rode back to camp. He was glad that Dutch had taken off with John, grateful for the time to prep Arthur for what to expect. Because no sooner than they rode in, Dutch was calling them over.

He had pulled out the map, had spread it over the table, each end weighed down by a random object. A box of ammo, a bottle of whiskey, some hair pomade. The map was old, had been used plenty, torn and crinkled in some areas, stained in another. Eventually they would have to replace it, but for now it would do.

“So,” Dutch greeted them as they walked up, “tell me; what has Hosea told so far?”

“That it sounds good,” Arthur pulled his hat off, coming to a stop near Dutch. Hosea eased himself down in a chair, striking a match and lighting a cigarette. Dutch hadn't said so, but Hosea knew the man wanted to take charge. Always did whenever he caught wind of something good. So he chose to sit back, to let the pair work together on this. It might even be good for them, he reckoned.

“Stage comes over from Brayton,” Dutch tapped on the town, his finger tracing the road that ran over to Springdale. “Leaves there around midweek, and gets to Sprindale on Friday sometime in the evening, from what we heard sometime around five. That gives us about three days to get ready. Now, the best place to take it would be around here-” the man tapped his finger on a spot, pausing when Hosea cleared his throat.

“Why don't you let Arthur find a spot?” he took another drag, blowing out a mouthful of smoke. He didn't want to chastise Dutch, but they had agreed to let Arthur try and sort things out. Wouldn't happen if Dutch didn't give him the chance.

“Hosea,” Dutch was shaking his head. Stubborn fool. “We're trying to rob a stage-”

“We're robbing a stage?” John pushed his way in, cutting Dutch off as he grabbed onto the edge of the table, the eagerness all to easy to hear in his voice.

“You ain't,” Arthur shook his head with a growl, “We are.”

“I want to help.”

“You're too young for that,” Hosea chided him softly. But he could see Dutch laughing, draping an arm over the younger kid.

“I like your ambition, son.”

“So I can come?”

Dutch would have to be out of his mind to agree. Arthur hadn't started robbing stages with them until he was around fifteen. Not to mention they had all but fallen out of the practice, having not gone after any in a while. If Dutch was planning on letting him...

“While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I am going to have to decline your proposition.”

Thank goodness; at least Dutch still possessed some sanity. Hosea took another drag, trying to calm his racing heart. He hadn't realized how tense he had been just then.

John was frowning, shooting Dutch a skeptical look. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Of course the words had gone right over his head. As much as Dutch liked his verbosity, sometimes it was too grand for the likes of young ears.

“Means you ain't coming, kid,” Arthur was the one who answered.

“But you're finally going to be doing something exciting,” he whined, a pout on his face. Oh heavens, that kid was good at protesting. Too good, at times, Hosea suspected.

“Don't you worry, John,” Dutch reassured him, “you'll have plenty of time to join in the excitement when you are older. Now, why don't you go help Susan while we gentleman discuss some business?”

“She's cooking, I don't know nuthin' about that.”

“Good time to learn as any,” Hosea prodded him. But the boy stood fast, the same pout on his face.

“Can't I just listen? Please? I'll be quiet.”

“I thought you didn't like talking; you told me it was boring,” Hosea reminded him, snuffing the cigarette out.

“Not this stuff,” John argued back. Near him, he could hear Arthur sigh.

“Just get out of here, will you?”

“Oh come on, Arthur. Your brother wants to learn, let him learn,” Dutch was laughing, even gave John a pat on the back. “Won't do any harm. He has to learn sometime, what better time than now?”

Hosea didn't miss the scowl, knew the frustration was there. Still Arthur nodded, because honestly who was he to argue? Dutch didn't seem to notice, a proud smile on his face as he praised John for his eagerness. Hell, he had all but shot down Arthur when the lad first brought it up, wouldn't hear it out. Now that they might have something he was all but inviting John in with open arms to learn more. And Dutch wondered why he and Arthur had been arguing so much as of late.

“Okay then,” Dutch motioned back down to the map. “So tell me, Arthur, where do you think we should hold up this stage?”

Arthur had leaned over the table, slight hesitation on his face as his eyes traced over the map. It lasted only but a moment before he tapped in the same spot Dutch had suggested earlier. “I think here would be just fine.”

It wasn't that he doubted Dutch's judgment. Dutch had planned these sort of things before, knew what to look for, but Hosea had hoped Arthur would at least look at the map, maybe consider a few other opportunities. It wasn't as though there was just that one spot.

“And why would that work?”

The question was a surprise. To more than just Hosea. The look on Arthur's face would have been amusing, had Hosea not had the same expression. He watched Arthur shuffle, heard him clear his throat as he looked back down.

“It's...not too far from camp?” he suggested. Bless him, he was trying. He knew they often joked that his strength made up for the lack of smarts, but part of Hosea felt that Arthur gave himself far too little credit. He could figure things out, given the right guidance. He prayed Dutch would give it.

“Usually we try and avoid doing jobs right next to camp,” Dutch counted him. “The law gets involved, they start poking around...not something we want.”

“Then why there? If we don't want them finding camp?” Arthur wondered.

“It's close to camp, true,” Dutch agreed. “But it's still far enough away we should be fine. What I like about this spot is the road narrows. The forest is overgrown here, and river is off to the right.”

“Okay,” Arthur nodded, seeming to understand.

“Out in the open, we try and stop the stage, they can drive off in any direction. Here...they won't be able to get across the river, the water is too deep and too rough for a wagon. And trying to take it through the trees...impossible.”

“So they have to stay and fight,” John piped up, understanding.

“Well, we're hoping there won't be a fight,” Hosea cut in. Men were not so keen to die protecting stuff that wasn't theirs. “We stop them on the road, get the money, and get out. Simple as that.”

“We've done that before,” Arthur nodded. “The last time was under a bridge...”

“Exactly,” Dutch praised him, “Ambush them somewhere where they have nowhere else to go.”

The smile on Arthur's face was small and brief, but definitely there. It was good to see the pair talking for once, and not fighting. Hosea knew that it had been a while since that had happened.

“So now, the real question is...how do we stop a stage?”

“Shoot the horse,” John announced smugly.

“You don't go shooting no horses,” Arthur spat out at him. “They done nothing wrong.”

“It'll get 'em to stop,” John argued.

“And I thought you were going to be quiet,” Hosea chastised him. Dutch shot him an angry scowl in return.

“True as that may be, John, we want to do our best to avoid bringing the law out. You start shooting horses, they'll open fire, and all that noise and commotion will draw them out faster than honey draws out flies.”

“I thought this thing was going to be unguarded?” Arthur frowned.

“The driver will most certainly be armed,” Hosea nodded towards him. “So we can expect one gun, maybe more if he has a companion. But with the three of us...I reckon the odds will be in our favor.”

“Of course they will be,” Dutch agreed, turning back to Arthur. “So...any ideas on how we stop the stage; without shooting anything?”

“Well, in the past you or Hosea usually just go up to them, and they stop,” Arthur let out a shrug. Hosea had to stifle a bit of a laugh, leaning back in the chair. True, it had been a while since their last robbery, but it was all too clear that Arthur hadn't paid much attention then. If only it were that easy...

“Few men will just stop on the road, especially if something seems suspicious,” Dutch shook his head. “You walk up to them, you're just asking for a bullet in your head.”

“The key is to surprise them,” Hosea explained. “A distraction of some sorts; act like you're hurt or lost, wait until they let their guard down, then we ambush.”

“You acted like you busted your leg that one time,” Arthur met his gaze, “it stopped the wagon then, the driver got out to help you up.”

“Took him for everything he had,” Dutch laughed, motioning to the wagon that sat in camp. Yes, Hosea could remember that too. Up until then they had been staying most nights in motels, a few nights under the stars, surviving almost day to day. Dutch had been itching to secure a wagon, somewhere they could store food and supplies that would give them some breathing room. But wagons were expensive and not easy to come by.

The poor sod they had robbed had been alone, hadn't had much, mostly grain. It had been easy to convince the man to flee, and they had helped themselves to the food, had driven the wagon to a small settlement they had crossed a few days before. A poor collection of houses, of people that were struggling with a sickness, that hadn't been able to work and were all but starving. They had passed out the rest of the food, the stuff they couldn't use. Then they had kept the wagon. It hadn't been anything fancy, but it had been well built, and even now was holding up strong.

“So what do you think?” Hosea prompted him, sitting up in the chair.

“Well,” he heard Arthur sigh, “I reckon we could try it. I mean...do I have to go out there and...act?”

“You should,” Dutch nodded, “see what you can manage. Hosea and I will be right behind you, but I think we should see what you can do on your own.”

“We'll go to town, see what disguise we can find you, smarten you up a bit,” Hosea added.

“I ain't playing dress up,” Arthur scoffed at the idea, straightening up, arms crossing over his chest.

“We're going to be around this place for a while,” Hosea told him, “last thing you want is to be recognized the next time you go into town.”

“You two do that,” Dutch agreed, “I'll head over to the area, see if I can find a decent location for us to hide away at.”

“Why don't you let Arthur and me go,” Hosea intervened, “It'll be good for him to pick out a spot.”

“It's safer if I go,” the man was shaking his head. “Anyone comes on the road, sees us poking around, it's less suspicious if it's just one man.”

“Well, I planned on doing some hunting tomorrow,” Hosea explained, “figure the two of us could stop by town, pick up some bait, see what clothes we can find. We'll head out that way, check things out, and then go and see if can hunt some dinner. If anyone sees us, then we're just a father and son, on our way to hunt. What do you think, Arthur?”

He watched as the young man shrugged, “Sure, I guess.”

“Can I come?” John asked, piping up suddenly. Hosea was momentarily impressed; the kid had been quiet long enough that he had almost forgotten he was even there.

“Why not?” he shrugged after a moment, pushing himself to his feet. The look of surprise on both Dutch's and Arthur's face was priceless.

“Really?”

“Sure,” Hosea couldn't help but smile. “There's nothing bears love more than little boys, and it'd save us the money on buying bait.”

Poor kid; the eager smile he had all but disappeared. “Bears?”

“Oh yeah. We'll find a nice place and hang you by your feet. You'll be plenty safe; I mean, we'll have, oh what do you think Dutch? About a minute to shoot the thing before it's able to climb the tree and eat him?”

“If that,” Dutch added in a with a laugh, “I've seen those things climb before.”

“Oh, he'll be fine,” Hosea waved his hand, pretending as though it wasn't important, “I mean, what's one or two bites, right?”

He could see the kid pale, watched as he swallowed, pushing himself away from the table. “I'm going to help Grimshaw with dinner,” he muttered quietly, all but scampering away. Near him Dutch was laughing, and he couldn't help but join in.

“You're not really going to bring him?” Arthur wondered, wavering between concern and disbelief.

Hosea patted him on the back, chuckling still. “Of course not. Tomorrow will be just the two of us; we'll get out for the day, it'll be fun.”

He was determined it would be. Heavens knew he needed the break, Arthur too. It would be nice to get away from some responsibility for a bit, and truth be told, he enjoyed spending time with the man. And he suspected Arthur felt the same, judging by the look on his face. Yes...tomorrow would be fun.


	8. Disguises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter here as we move on; had some trouble finding a decent place to split things. More will come soon, and just want to thank everyone who's read and commented. I enjoy seeing your thoughts. Enjoy reading!

* * *

“So, how the hell do you hunt a bear?”

It was early still, but they were already on the road. Breakfast had been a quick meal of some bread and dried berries, followed by a cup of coffee. Hosea had readied the horses, had packed the rifles, and collected a bit of cash. There hadn't been much conversation between the pair, both of them still struggling to wake up, it would seem. They were nearing town now, and Arthur had been the one to break the silence, fighting off a yawn.

“Very carefully,” Hosea answered after a moment. “We'll need to stop by the store, pick up some bait. Bears will eat almost anything, but they love fish, and berries, anything sweet really. I heard talk of some good hunting to the west. So I reckon we'll head out that way, see what we can find. You ever had bear?”

“No,” Arthur shook his head. “We had a ranch when I was a kid. There was chickens and goats, had a cow but then my ma got sick, and pa...well he got in trouble with the law and we lost everything. From there it was whatever I could find; didn't know what I was eating half the time, and then...well you know.”

Yes he did. Arthur had been barely scraping by when they had crossed paths, had been far too slender for his size. Had been unsure of their generosity, and had for a time after joining them snuck extra food, kept it hidden just in case. It had taken time to convince the lad that they weren't going to starve him, that he needn't worry. Not that he could blame him; seems life hadn't been especially kind to him. He had been, as Dutch called, dealt an unfair hand.

“What about you?”

The question pulled him from his thoughts, Hosea clearing his throat before he answered. “A long while back now; it's sweeter than venison, if I remember rightly. A bit coarse, but it makes for a good meal. Find a decent sized bear and why we'd have meat for a while.”

“Be nice,” Arthur mused, “Sort of getting sick of fish.”

“Fish is easy,” Hosea pointed out, though he had at agree. Being right next to the river made it convenient, but Arthur had a point. It was nice to mix things up every now and then. They were on the outskirts of town now, weaving their way in and out of the morning traffic. Arthur followed his lead to the store, and had chosen to wait outside for him. It didn't take long to get the supplies he needed, and he motioned for Arthur to follow him on foot as he left.

The tailor was across the street, a decent sized place. Hosea greeted the clerk, nearly had to drag Arthur up to the counter. The annoyance was easy to see on his face. Arthur never liked shopping, liked it even less when it involved him directly.

“What can I help you with today?”

“My boy here needs something new,” Hosea nodded towards him, clasping him on the shoulder. “I was hoping to smarten him up a bit.”

“Well, we have a good few outfits here, feel free to take a look, he can try them on in back.”

He thanked the man, beckoning for Arthur to follow. The younger man did so, despite the low whine from him. “Hosea...is this really necessary?”

“Oh come now, Arthur, it really isn't that bad,” he chided him. They were in back now, an assortment of clothes hanging on the racks. He fumbled through them, fingers running over the fabric. He figured a coat, maybe a shirt as well... “What do you think of this?”

A classic frock coat, longer than the leather one Arthur preferred. The sour look on his face was almost amusing. He passed it to Arthur who took it with a growl. Hosea turned back to the rack, digging through some more. A black duster...not bad. He held it up; less resentment this time. Now for a shirt...

It took time. More time than he suspected it would take. Of course it wasn't like Arthur had done anything to help matters. The lad had argued and squabbled over nearly every choice, hadn't even wanted to try the stuff on. Had tried to convince Hosea to just buy the first damn thing he chose. It had taken even more prodding to get him to actually dress. Stubborn idiot.

He stood now, arms crossed, a scowl on his face. Hosea regarded him quietly, chewing on a lip. He liked the duster on him, and he had somehow managed to convince the lad to put on a red dress shirt that went nice with it, but something still didn't seem right. It was something he had to figure out quickly, because god help him Arthur's patience would run out sooner rather than later. Then the idea hit him.

“Wait here a moment,” he nodded towards him, moving back to the other room. An assortment of hats, browsing through them briefly, a small smile as he grabbed a stalker hat. He knew Arthur didn't approve, could tell by the look on his face.

“Hosea,” the man groaned, even as he reached out. He pulled the old worn hat off, replacing it with the new one. Arthur was fond of his hat, had turned down all offers of getting something new, had put up a right old fit once when Dutch had pressured him to get it replaced. Hosea knew he was testing boundaries, and was quick to reassure the man it was only a temporary change. Arthur wasn't thrilled, that much was easy to see. Still, it seemed that the hat was the one thing that seemed to be clashing, something so old when everything else was new. But now...he stepped back with a smile.

“There, you look good.”

“I look like an idiot,” Arthur countered.

“Nonsense,” Hosea shook his head, “ you look spiffy.”

“Which is another way of saying stupid,” he held his arms out. “Come on Hosea, this ain't me.”

“Exactly,” Hosea agreed quietly, stepping closer to him, his next words quiet. “No one will recognize you, which is the point. You'll only need them for the robbery. Just humor me...you can do that, can't you?”

He let out a sigh, rolling his eyes. “Fine...can I change now?”

“Go on then,” he waved him away, letting out a laugh. Arthur was all too happy to oblige, tossing the chosen items at him. Hosea paid for them while he finished dressing, and the pair left together shortly after. They crossed the street again, back to the horses, stowing the clothes on the back of Scout. Arthur had gone to mount, but Hosea waved him off, instead motioning to the saloon in an unasked question.

It was late morning now, and he wasn't sure about Arthur but he himself was hungry. Their was a brief pause, but eventually he nodded, and the two of them made their way over. The place was lively despite it being early, and Hosea found a table towards the back for them while Arthur ordered from the menu. Oatmeal for him, while Arthur went for a hearty stew.

“Slow down, Arthur,” he chided. Damn that boy still acted like someone was going to steal the food out of his mouth.

“We need to get going,” came the retort. It gave Hosea reason to laugh.

“Why? I didn't realize we were in a hurry.”

“Well, we need to...you know,” Arthur shrugged his shoulders. Hosea knew he was talking about scouting the area. Anxious thing, wasn't he?

“There's plenty of time for that,” he reassured him.

“And hunting?” Arthur wondered. “It gets dark early and Dutch will be expecting us.”

“Dutch knows we may be gone until tomorrow,” Hosea answered, taking a sip of coffee. Warmed the bones that stuff did. “So do yourself a favor and try and not choke your food down.”

There was a huff, a bit of a grumble, but he grudgingly obliged. Still finished first, pushing the dish to one side, leaning back in his chair. Hosea had no intentions of rushing, and he heard the man sigh when that became apparent. Dutch would have said something, would have scolded him, but Hosea simply ignored it, had reached over to nearby table and snagged a discarded newspaper that had been left there, skimming the headlines.

Arthur had seemingly gotten the message; Hosea watched from the corner of his eye as the lad pulled out his journal. He had a feeling the latest entry would be about him. The thought gave him a bit of a chuckle. Young ones were so impatient these days. 

“ _They've been putting the money in an old rundown wagon.”_

He barely heard the voice, coming somewhere behind him. Hosea didn't turn, his eyes still focused on the paper as he took another bite, but he was certainly paying attention now. He didn't recognize the voice, but he was certain they were talking about the stage. What were the odds of that?

“ _Now why would they do that?”_ A second voice, another one he didn't recognize. 

“ _The drivers, they dress up like peasants, like some sort of farmers. Thieves, well they're looking for a fancy coach, not an old farming wagon. They bring the money in unseen, it's real clever, I'm telling you.”_

Hosea took another sip of coffee, glancing up at Arthur. He was still writing, attention focused on the journal in front of him. Either he didn't hear, or if he did, he seemed not to care. Hosea resisted the urge to look behind him, instead just listened, hoping to pick up on the conversation once more. But they were talking about something new, idle chatter. Still, he wasn't sure of what to make of it. He cleared his throat, catching Arthur's attention.

“Be discreet, but look over near the corner behind me,” he kept his voice low, watching as Arthur's eyes flicked that direction. “You recognize any of those fellas?”

Arthur took a moment, then shook his head, a frown on his face as he leaned in close. “What's wrong?”

He shook his head. Right now he couldn't be sure. But something felt funny. Something he didn't like. Hosea let out a sigh, finishing his coffee. “Let's get going, shall we?”

He tried to keep a smile, tried to act as though nothing was wrong. Arthur was not so easily fooled, though he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut until they had left. Had waited until they mounted to ask again.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Hosea reassured him, “Just me being silly, that's all. Come on, let's head out, see what this place looks like.”

He wasn't sure how convincing he had been. Arthur seemed to relax a little, had taken the lead. Once or twice Hosea glanced over his shoulder, an odd feeling settling his gut. No one was following them...no one had any reason to follow them, but he still had this strange feeling as though someone was. An invisible chill he could not shake. Hosea tried his best to ignore it, focused instead on what they were doing.

It took almost an hour to reach the bend. They had ridden at a leisurely pace, crossed the path that would lead them back to camp. Like Dutch had said the road narrowed, the forest crowding at one end, the river on the other side. Arthur pulled Clover to a stop first, Hosea following suit shortly after. The road was quiet; they didn't have to worry about prying eyes, not right now at least.

“So it's coming from the west,” Arthur broke the uneasy silence, his voice soft. “We can hide along the trees here; leave the horses further in so they're not spotted?”

More of a question, Hosea noted. He nodded thoughtfully, scanning the treeline. It was overgrown, plenty of foliage there to provide adequate cover. He and Dutch could hide easily, while Arthur put on a show. Hosea swallowed, the same strange feeling settling in his gut, the hair standing up on the back of his neck. Something wasn't right. Maybe it was his paranoia, and no doubt it was unreasonable, but he had learned long ago that you listened to your gut.

“I think...” he paused, trying to figure it out, then shook his head, turning towards Arthur. “I think we need to get back to camp.”

“What's wrong, Hosea?” Arthur pressed, the concern in his voice now. “First back in town, and now here? You heard something?”

“I don't know,” he met Arthur's gaze. Wanted to be honest with him, but even he himself wasn't sure what he was trying to say. “I think I need to speak with Dutch.”  
  


“So no hunting?”

Hosea shook his head, turning Scout around. No...seems like they were going to be having fish again tonight. Provided he could even eat, seeing how tight his stomach was. The oatmeal might make a reappearance if he didn't calm his nerves. There was something he couldn't quite put his finger on...that was why he needed Dutch. And the sooner, the better.


	9. Foiled Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're halfway through the story it seems, looking at about another 8 or 9 chapters to go yet. Hoping you all are enjoying it! I've been having a blast writing young Arthur, and hope that so far it's been convincing...at any rate, read on :)

* * *

It hadn't taken much time to get back to camp. It had taken even less time for Hosea to disappear into Dutch's tent. Arthur was left to tend to the horses and unpack the supplies. He wasn't even sure what to do with the new clothes Hosea had bought him. Arthur was starting to get a funny feeling that he wouldn't be using them.

Still he stored them in his chest, brushed Clover down, all but ignored Grimshaw when she asked why they had come back so soon. John was happy, the kid wanting to know all the details of how the hunting had gone, too oblivious to understand that it had never even happened. Hosea had never explained himself, had just been intent on getting back, insisting that he needed to talk to Dutch. But he wasn't stupid. He knew something had happened.

They were still talking, locked in private conversation, Arthur watching from afar, trying to see if he could pick up a word or two. Grimshaw had gotten after him finally, had scolded him, reminding him there were chores to be done if he was just going to stand there. With a sigh he pulled away, a grumble under his breath. He wasn't even supposed to be here right now, why was he still expected to do chores?  
  


He helped to hang the laundry, chasing Copper away when the damn dog tried to take off with a shirt in a feeble attempt to play. They were still talking, a few glances his way, each one felt like a punch to his gut, the nervousness increasing. Arthur did his best to ignore it, to pretend he hadn't seen. Had gone over to split some wood for the fire. Anything to keep himself busy.

John had followed him, had rambled on almost non-stop, much to Arthur's annoyance. He set the log on the stump, swung the axe, split it clean in two. The kid laughed, wanting to place the next log. Arthur had tried to shoo him away, not in the mood, but it hadn't deterred him, and Arthur found himself sighing, waiting with ever lessening patience as John tried to make the log stand up.

“Can we go riding?” John asked suddenly, finally managing his attempted feat. Arthur waited till he stepped back before bringing the axe down.

“No,” Arthur shook his head, reaching down for another log. John beat him to it, set it up again, this time a little faster.

“How come?”

“I don't feel like it,” he grumbled, splitting the next log. “Sides, it's too late.”

“Tomorrow?”

Did nothing ever deter this kid? “Maybe,” he sighed, hefting the axe up once more. He heard the kid laugh, saw him grin as he grabbed another one.

“Arthur? Come over here,” Dutch was calling for him, one hand waving in his vague direction. He set the axe down, kicking a log out of the way with his foot.

“Stack these in a pile by the fire,” he instructed as he walked away.

“Why me?”

“Cause I said so,” Arthur shot back, “and if you don't, I won't take you nowhere.”

He saw the kid huff, watched as he stuck his tongue out. Arthur mimicked the gesture, even though he knew he really shouldn't; it was just too damn tempting. At least the kid was listening to him for once. Arthur shook his head, focusing back in front of him as he stepped into the tent. Hosea was sitting on the bed, Dutch standing off to one side. Neither of them looked very pleased; no way that was a good sign.

“What's going on?”

It was Dutch who broke the silence. “There's been a change of plans.”

Arthur let out a sigh, leaning against a tent pole. “We're not going for the stage, are we?”

He suspected as much, had started to suspect it ever since Hosea had started to act funny. At first he had tried to ignore it, chalk it up to apprehension. Then worry...did Hosea think this whole thing was too risky? That he wouldn't be able to pull it off? Maybe he shouldn't have complained about the disguise so much.

“Dutch and I think it might be a trap,” Hosea explained quietly.

_Might_ be a trap? “But you don't know for sure?”

“We're pretty sure,” Dutch answered. Was this what the pair had been discussing this entire time? He glanced between the two, grim expressions on both of their faces. Why now? Why the sudden change? They had both been so sure of this.

“It's a good lead,” he argued, protesting a little.

“It sounded good,” Hosea agreed, looking up at him. “Then I overheard them fellas talking about it earlier, when we were in the saloon. Now I'm not so sure.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Think, Arthur,” Dutch pressed. “You heard about it when we rode into town that first day. Then Hosea and I heard talk of it the next day. Now today, there's more people talking about it. What does that tell you?”

“That people like to talk?” he shrugged his shoulders. He really could not understand what the issue was. It was a small town, word traveled fast. Near him Dutch sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It's supposed to be a secret, and yet the entire town seems to know about it.”

Okay, he had to admit that made some sense. But still... “So, people found out, it might not be much of a secret no more, but it doesn't mean it's a trap.”

“Companies do this sometimes,” Hosea explained, “set stuff up, see what fools they can catch.”

“It could still be true,” he didn't want to believe it. Didn't want to believe that the one time he had actually found something was nothing more than a charade.

“If it's true and the secret is out, they won't bother with it anymore,” Hosea explained. “They'd just be asking for trouble.”

“But they're coming from a different town...they won't know that we've figured out what they're doing...the three of us; we can still do this.”

“No, Arthur,” Dutch was shaking his head, “there's too much risk.”

Too much risk? He glanced between the pair, first at Dutch who's face was hard set, then to Hosea who seemed more downcast, almost disappointed. This didn't make any sense. What were they so afraid of? “We've taken stages before,” he argued.

“When the take seems good, yes,” Hosea agreed.

“This is a good take,” Arthur pressed, “we've all heard it, we can-”

“I said no,” Dutch cut him off, his voice firm. A clear signal that the discussion was over. Still, Arthur was willing to press his luck.

“Can't we just go, and see, at least?”

“I don't think that that would be a good idea,” Hosea tried to reason with him.

“I'm not saying we'll rob it,” Arthur tried to bargain, “Just that we hide out, see if it is a trap...if it is then we do nothing, but if it ain't?”

“We go nowhere near there,” Dutch shook his head. “Give them a wide berth; last thing we want is trouble from the law. It would ruin everything we have going on for us here.”

So that was what he was worried about? Their flimsy plans, selling shares of lands, the fake gold? Last he heard they hadn't gotten anything back from Trelawny, so doubtful that was going anywhere. Yet here they had something real, something that could work with. Arthur let out a sigh, suggesting the next thing that came to mind.

“What if I go and check things out?” That way the others could continue with their plans, wouldn't have to risk being seen. If they saw him...so what? They wouldn't know who he was.

“Don't be stupid,” Dutch all but snapped at him. “You're not going; that's final.”

Well, that was that. Grudgingly he agreed, arms crossing in front of chest with a sigh. It was so unfair. Why did they have to stop at the saloon today? That was what had ruined everything. He could be out hunting with Hosea, could be getting ready for a robbery. Now he was stuck here, a step shy of being lectured, and no hope of getting away with an easy score.

“Arthur?” Dutch waited until he looked at him, the man's gaze was firm. “You will not go anywhere near there. Do you understand me?”

“I heard ya,” he shook his head.

“I didn't ask if you heard me,” Dutch ground out, his voice harsh, “I asked if you understood.”

“I understand,” he muttered, humiliated. Why did the man insist on treating him like a child? “I won't go nowhere near there.”

“Good,” Dutch nodded, his voice softer. A bit of a smile on his face. “That's all I'm asking, son.”

“So now what?” Arthur wondered dejectedly. More days of being stuck here at camp, having to babysit John? All the while the rest of them rode off into town and did their own thing?

“We focus on our other leads. Hosea and I will head back into town tomorrow, see where things stand.”

He knew it. Arthur let out a sigh, “Sounds great.”

“I think that can wait,” Hosea spoke for the first time in a while. He seemed bothered, as though he had been the one being lectured. “Arthur and I never did get to our hunt.”

“It's fine,” Arthur shook his head. His heart wasn't much in it anymore. Plus he didn't want to interfere in their _precious plans_. “Sides, I promised the kid I'd take him riding tomorrow.”

He hadn't, not really. But at least if he was spending time with John, they'd let him alone. That's what he really wanted at the moment.

“Dutch can take him,” Hosea pressed. “We can afford the time; head out in the morning, see what we can find. Come on, it'll be fun.”

“That's what you said yesterday,” Arthur reminded him dryly. Right now he was having about as much fun as he could handle.

“And I mean it this time,” Hosea stood, stretching as he did so. “So what do you say?”

“I guess,” he finally relented with a shrug. He didn't want to, not really. But he always had a hard time saying no. Hosea seemed pleased, patting him on the shoulder, encouraging him to get some rest. All before ushering him away. Arthur didn't need to be told twice, and left the men to themselves as they launched into new discussions. There was no need for him there anymore, that had been apparent. No...he let out a sigh. That seemed to be a reoccurring theme as of late. And it was one he was not pleased with.

* * *

He had been reminded that they would be up early again, and had been encouraged to get to sleep at a decent hour, so Arthur knew the man wouldn't be happy if he could see him now. But at the moment he really didn't care. The whiskey burned as it went down, a strange comforting feeling as it settled deep in his gut. It eased the tension, helped him forget the disappointing turn of events, the fact that today had been nothing but a disaster. Arthur closed his eyes, taking another swig.

Hosea and Dutch had spent most of the evening talking, discussing their own plans. Had acted as though nothing had changed. Arthur guessed that for them it really hadn't. They were still planning on running with their schemes and he? Well, he would be sitting at camp, taking care of John, helping with the chores. Such was life, he guessed. Damn...the bottle was empty again. He could swear he hadn't drank it all...maybe he had spilled some.

He set it down next to the others, one hand rubbing his forehead. After he had left the pair, Arthur had taken John out riding. It was a good excuse to get out of the camp, to avoid Grimshaw's constant needling about chores that needed to be done, and how there weren't enough hands around to see to it all. They hadn't gone anywhere really, just circled through the woods while they talked. Or rather, John had talked.

Damn kid could talk a mile a minute, could never shut his mouth long enough to hear anything. The quiet sounds of nature he so longed for were all but drowned out by his incessant chatter. Arthur had gruffly snapped at him more than once to shut his mouth, but it did little to deter him. Brat had seemed hellbent on making his life even more miserable than he already was. And the worst part? Half of what the kid was saying made no sense. He switched topics so fast that it was a struggle just to keep up with him mentally. Asking ridiculous questions that Arthur couldn't answer, and frankly couldn't care less about.

And then the kid had asked about the stage. Even now Arthur winced, remembering how savagely he had snapped in response, telling him it wasn't happening. John had flinched then, but surprisingly had held his gaze, anger crossing his features, making him look like some sort of crazed animal.

“ _What you mean it ain't happening?”_

“ _It ain't happening, that's all you need to know.”_

Arthur cracked open another bottle, head tilted back as he brought it to his lips. Dutch would have his hide when he found out that he had taken the rest of the whiskey. Neither he nor Hosea had qualms about him drinking now and then, but even he knew this was excessive. He had only been flat out drunk once or twice in his life, so far plastered he couldn't even remember what had happened.

One time it was after he and Dutch had pulled off a successful robbery, and they had spent the night celebrating. Arthur had woken up in a pig pen, covered in mud and shit, utterly confused on how he had ended up there. It had taken him half a day to find Dutch, the man passed out in his own drunken stupor back at camp. He had woken long enough to take in Arthur's appearance, had insisted he go wash, and then had gone right back to sleep. What a damn night that had been...at least he had been a happy drunk then.

Now...the alcohol burned in him, and he could feel the ground tilting underneath. A slight buzz, but nowhere as drunk as he wanted to be. Not just yet. He glanced up as the flap to his tent was lifted, half expecting Dutch or Hosea to come in and start chewing him out. But no; they were long asleep now and it was John who came sneaking in.

The boy stood there a second, face screwed tight in a scowl as he waved a hand in front of his face. He looked so ridiculous that Arthur had to fight off a laugh. He masked it instead by taking another drink.

“What you want boy?” he pressed once he had caught his breath. John was still standing there, watching him with a peculiar look.

“Are you drunk?”

“Not yet,” he tilted the bottle towards him in mock toast. “I asked you a question. What do you want?”

“I've been thinking,” John answered finally, sitting himself down on the ground, crossing his legs.

“You and I both know that you ain't got the brains for thinking,” Arthur chaffed, taking another sip.

The response was a scowl, the boy leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “I figured it out.”

Figured what out? Good lord this kid was making no sense. “If you gonna prattle off about nonsense, at least have the decency to be drunk,” he chastised him. He took another drink, holding the bottle out towards him.

John took it tentatively, face crinkling as he smelled it.

“Go on, it ain't gonna bite,” Arthur waved at him, watching as the boy put it to his lips, taking a small sip. The reaction was immediate, the kid all but spitting it out in a near gag. It sent Arthur into a fit of laughter, barely able to see the bottle as it was handed back.

“That stuff is awful,” John spat again, wiping at his mouth with his sleeve. “How can you drink that?”

“You get used to it,” Arthur was wiping away tears, following it by another drink. He could remember the first time Hosea had pushed a bottle into his hands, the immense joy that both he and Dutch had watching while Arthur tried to down his first bottle. Lord had he ever been sick that night.

“Whatever you say,” John grumbled. The kid leaned forward again, his voice low and quiet, almost a whisper. “Like I told you, I think I figured it out.”

“And like I told you, you ain't making any sense,” Arthur finished the rest of the bottle. Set it down next to the others. Shit, he would have to get rid of those before anyone else found them.

“I know how we're gonna rob the stage.”

“What you talking about?” Arthur nearly growled at him, the earlier amusement gone. “We ain't going to rob no stage.”

“But I been thinking,” John protested, “and I know we can do it.”

“Dutch and Hosea said no,” Arthur shook his head. At the moment he wasn't sure if he was hearing the kid right, or if he was simply so drunk that he was imagining it all.

“Dutch and Hosea might be scared 'bout it, but I ain't,” John answered bitterly. “Sides, we won't need them, the two of us can take it.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Dutch and Hosea ain't scared. And there ain't no stage...”

“We know the route, we know when they gonna come, and we know they ain't got no guards. It'll be easy. Come on, Arthur. Dutch and Hosea, they'd be so proud of us if we took it by ourselves.”

Proud was the last thing they would be, of that he was certain. Arthur let out a sigh, shaking his head. He was far too tired and nowhere near sober enough to be entertaining this sort of talk. “Look, kid. You have ambition, and that is something to be admired for sure, but it ain't gonna happen.”

“Why not?”

“Cause it's a trap,” he let out a sigh. He had been contemplating everything that Dutch and Hosea had told him, thinking it over in his head. And he knew they were right. It all seemed too easy, too perfect. After all, when was the last time they had seen an unguarded wagon? What bank in their right mind would leave a coach unprotected? As much as he hated to admit it, he had been a fool to even think it was possible in the first place. Wanting something to be true didn't make it so.

“How do you know that?” John was protesting now, lip stuck out almost in a pout.

“Cause I do,” he growled, hand pressed to his forehead. Lord was his head already starting to ache. Tomorrow was not going to be pleasant.

“But Arthur-”

“But nothing,” he cut off the kid. “We ain't going, that's final.” He didn't wait for a response, opting instead to lay down, arm crossed over his eyes. Shit he needed some sleep.

“I just want to help,” John sounded so pitiful just then. Arthur raised his arm, watching the kid for a moment.

“You want to help? Then take care of these for me, and get yourself to bed,” he waved absentmindedly towards the bottles.

He heard the kid scoff. “I ain't cleaning up your mess.”

“I'll take you out riding if you do.”

“You'll take me out riding anyways,” John counted him, but he was moving, picking up the discarded bottles.

“Mm...probably,” Arthur hummed in agreement. He was drifting, almost asleep when he heard the kid return, felt him crawl up alongside him.

“Go to bed,” he whispered gruffly, even as he curled up next to him.

“I am,” John grumbled back, head resting his shoulder.

“You're own bed,” he prompted. It only earned a giggle from the kid.

“Make me.”

Like that was ever going to happen. Not in his current state. Arthur let out a sigh, waving a hand in surrender as the drunken stupor pulled at him. It was something he would argue about later, when he had the energy. Right now? Right now, he just wanted to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda felt bad for Arthur in this chapter. He hasn't seemed to be getting very many breaks, especially when Dutch is involved. Leave a comment if you enjoyed! The next part will be out soon!


	10. The Trouble with Hunting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot happens in the chapter, but it does delve into some backstory of what I perceive happened as far as Arthur and Dutch are concerned, and how their relationship is. Plus some random musings.
> 
> I love all the comments I've gotten and some of the thoughts you guys have had. Hope you enjoy this chapter as well :)

* * *

It had taken some time and a bit of prodding to get him moving the next morning. Hosea knew that Arthur could be insufferable when he was tired. Had seen him be argumentative before, downright nasty at other times. The cause of more than one brawl at a local tavern. That had more to do with drink than just fatigue, he mused. Hosea suspected that was the case here. He handed the cup of coffee his way, urging him to drink as he took a sip of his own.

“How much did you drink last night?” Hosea finally broke the silence. They were the only ones awake, sitting near the fire as dawn was just starting to break. He watched as Arthur held his head with one hand, nursing the coffee with the other.

“Not enough,” came the grumbled reply.

Hosea shook his head with a sigh. He knew Arthur had gone to bed angry, upset at the latest turn of events. Not that he could blame him. Hosea couldn't help but feel responsible for everything. Dutch was right; he shouldn't have gotten Arthur all excited about it.

“I'm sorry, my boy.”

“For what? You ain't the one who made me drank last night,” Arthur grumbled, taking another sip of his coffee.

“For this mess,” Hosea clarified. “Getting you all worked up for nothing. I know how much you were looking forward to it.”

“Is what it is,” he watched as the younger man shrugged, “Not much to be done about it. Reckon it's better we found out about it now than when it was too late.”

“There's truth in that,” Hosea agreed, setting his cup down. “And there will be other jobs. Just you wait and see.”

“I suppose,” he nodded. “Just thought that this would be like old times; the three of us working together like we used to.”

Ah, the good old days. When they had less worries. When people were eager to be swindled and the law was easy to avoid. That was before John, before Susan even. Just the three of them, attempting to live out some ideal fantasy, the American Dream, as Dutch liked to call it. Wild and crazy, and free...

It had been hard, he knew, for Arthur to trust. Life hadn't given him much reason to do so until they had happened to cross paths. But he learned fast, had been more than eager to impress and earn his keep. For the first time he had a reason to live, and not simply survive day to day. He had embraced his newfound friends, their way of life. The odd couple and their unruly son; it was something they joked about often.

They were always together except for the days when Hosea left to spend time with Bessie. She was forever the love of his life, and even to this day she still held his heart. During the days he was gone, Dutch and Arthur would attempt to lie low, do their best to not cause too much trouble. It wasn't something they always managed. More than once Hosea had returned to town to find them, only to be greeted with a hastily written letter addressed to their alias about how they had moved on, and where they could be found.

About a year after they had found Arthur, Hosea had intended to leave for good. Bessie and he had married, and he had tried to go straight and live an honest life. It hadn't lasted, and it wasn't long before he rejoined the pair. They had welcomed him back with open arms, and soon after they were back to their old antics. Arthur had grown during that time, had filled out some, looking older than he remembered, had started to grow a beard, of all things. He was glad to see the boy, and Arthur had returned the sentiment, had spent the entire evening regaling him with stories of their adventures. How he had missed that boy...

Hosea knew that he and Arthur shared a special relationship, there was no doubt about that. But it was vastly different from the relationship that the lad shared with Dutch. The man had doted on the boy since finding him, had lavished him with praise that Arthur had all but eaten up, as though he were a starved pup looking for some kind soul to toss him a bone. It was something Arthur thrived on it, seemingly making up for all the years he lost as a kid. And how the two could edge each other on, rile one another up. It was almost entertaining in a way. Yes, life had been good.

Then Dutch had found Susan in a saloon one night in some old town, and he had been infatuated by her. He spent the evenings going there, playing poker, admiring her. Had spent near every night away from camp. And when the time had come for them to leave, she had joined them. Dutch's mood had soared, and the man's attention had drifted from doting on Arthur, to fawning over Susan instead.

It hadn't bothered Hosea; he knew what love was like, how demanding it could be, and if anything it made him miss Bessie all the more. But Arthur? He was young still, hadn't experienced the allure of love, and he hadn't coped with the changes all that well. Hosea had watched him struggle with the frustration and jealousy as everything he knew changed.

He was no longer the center of attention, and Dutch's patience with him seemed to wain as time went on. Perhaps Arthur had started to act out more, but Hosea was having trouble blaming that on him. Dutch had offered him the world, and in the span of a few weeks had seemed to forget the man even existed. Hosea had tried to step up, attempted to fill in that gap that Arthur had been feeling in the wake of things, and after some time things seemed to calm down as Arthur figured out where he stood within the group.

A few months passed and Dutch's infatuation with Susan had lessened, their relationship becoming more cordial and less lascivious, and for a couple of years things had almost returned to normal with the three of them spending time together while Susan kept to the camp. The joy in that change had been easy to see in Arthur, and if Dutch noticed, the man didn't comment. It was just like old times. And then they had found John. And the entire cycle seemed to start over once more.

Very rarely did the three of them go out on jobs together after that. Dutch and Hosea had slipped into their old habits of running together, bringing Arthur along only when it was deemed necessary. More often than not, Dutch was adamant that Arthur stay behind to help keep an eye on John, the rambunctious youth proving too much for Susan to handle alone. He had been reduced to little more than a nursemaid, once again trying to deal with the emotions wrought by sudden change.

And perhaps the most frustrating part of it all was that Dutch couldn't see that, and couldn't understand where Arthur's contention had come from. That was why Hosea was so adamant on taking this trip, a small breather from all the silent chaos that was unfolding within their group. But watching him now, he was beginning to wonder if they would make it anywhere.

“You ready to move out?” he prodded, testing the waters.

“Give me a minute. I need to find some motivation,” Arthur muttered in return.

“Is that what you need?” he chuckled. “Well, we can always sing a rousing campfire song. That always gets me going.”

“Please Hosea,” Arthur groaned, still holding his head in his hands.

“Or we can put on one of Dutch's operas,” he suggested lightly.

“Do you enjoy torturing children?”

“I wont deny that I get certain pleasure from it,” Hosea laughed, “Just think of it as the motivation you need.”

Arthur looked up at him, a scowl on his face. “Yeah, to gouge out my eardrums maybe.”

Hosea laughed. The boy had never been a fan of the music. Hosea found it alright, certainly not his first choice, but he couldn't complain. He actually had been to an opera before, back when he was much much younger, before this sort of life took a hold of him. What a time that had been; felt almost like a whole different world then. But he could reminisce later. He pushed himself to his feet, urging Arthur to do the same. He did so, lagging a little.

He felt pity for the lad, that much was for sure, but he knew the hangover would lessen given time, and that things would be well once they were moving. They had packed most of the stuff the night before, so it took little time to ready the horses, and they were on the road just as the sun breached the treeline.

Once more they went west, rode through the area they had surveyed just the day before, and further into the wilderness. There were more hills here, several trails that ran off the main road, leading into the undergrowth. From what he had heard, there should be bears a few miles out this way. Hosea figured they would keep riding until they found a suitable spot for a camp, and then see what hunting could be had from there.

“Did I ever tell you about my hunting trip when we were back in Ohio?”

Hosea hadn't said much until now, having wanted to give him some time to settle down. Arthur was staring to look better, more alert and a little less agitated, and he sounded more like himself when he answered in negation.

“It was just after Dutch and I had met. It had been a few weeks, maybe a month, whatever the case it hadn't been long. We got into some trouble in a town there, and we took to the woods to wait until the heat died down. We didn't have much in the way of food, and I wanted to go do some hunting. Dutch wanted to sneak back into town with a disguise. I told him that was too risky, and he argued that we weren't in the best place to try and be hunting.”

“From the way you tell it, you were always great at hunting,” Arthur prodded.

“Perhaps not great,” Hosea shrugged, “but I'd like to think decent. I'm better now, but that tends to happen when you practice. At any rate, Dutch and I argued, we both went our separate ways. Bet each other five dollars to see who could bring the most food back. I packed my stuff, hiked a ways into the woods until I found some good tracks, put some bait down and then waited. It was mid-day then, a right awful time to hunt. But I was young and stupid, and eager to win that ridiculous bet, so I kept waiting. An hour passed, then two, then three.”

“I gather nothing came?”

Hosea shook his head. “A few rabbits, some squirrels. Nothing substantial. But I refused to go back empty handed. Figured if I'd wait long enough the deer would start moving again, and I could find a decent haul. But I had a new problem, namely some business to take care of. I was afraid to leave, so paranoid that I'd miss out on something. Finally I couldn't stand it anymore, and had to go. So I found a bush, dropped my drawers, started relieving myself. And wouldn't you know it? A damn deer came waltzing up there right in the midst of everything.”

That had been a god-awful experience, and even now retelling it set his cheeks burning in humiliation. But he would be a fool to pretend it didn't make for an amusing story. He could hear Arthur snickering, trying to hold back the laugh that was attempting to edge it's way out. Hosea cleared his throat, continuing the story.

“So there we were; this beautiful buck, with the biggest rack I'd ever seen, eating the bait I put out, and me, with my pants around my ankles, halfway in a bush. I finished as quick as I could, grabbed the gun, went staggering out of there, trying to yank my drawers up all at the same time. Ending up tripping, and bashed my head on a rock. The last thing I remember was the deer looking back up at me, still happily munching on the bait.”

“I reckon that had to hurt,” Arthur sympathized. “And I'm going to guess that you didn't get the deer?”

“That I did not,” Hosea agreed, “But it gets worse, let me tell you.”

“How could it possibly get worse?”

“Well, I knocked myself silly. I remember the deer, then the next thing I know, Dutch is there. My pants are still down around my ankles, I'm sprawled out, face down in the dirt. He wanted to know what I was doing. And the only thing I could think of to say was 'hunting'. And he wanted to know exactly what I was hunting for. _“I must say, Hosea, I may not be as adept as you are when it comes to this sort of business, but I certainly am hesitant to learn your techniques.”_

He had put forth the best imitation of Dutch he could muster, drawing a laugh from Arthur. What a mess that had been, and Dutch being Dutch, the man had yet to let him forget that escapade. Just when enough time had passed, and Hosea had thought it was all but a faint memory, Dutch had no problems in bringing it to light once more.

“Needless to say he won that bet, and I spent the next three days in bed nursing one hell of a headache.”

“The two of you certainly had interesting times,” Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. It seemed as though his spirits were up, a little more mirth in his voice. Hosea knew that Arthur enjoyed stories from their past, most probably because his stories weren't all that great for sharing. He had tried, more than once, to get the man to open up, but Arthur would simply shrug, claim there wasn't much to tell. After a while, he stopped trying, opting instead to share his own experiences.

They rode on a little further, eventually taking a trail off to the right, making a small camp near the river. They took time for lunch, waited until the afternoon to head out, Hosea running through the list of things in his mind, prepping Arthur on what he needed to watch out for. Hunting bears certainly came with risk, far more dangerous than hunting deer, but he had hunted bears before and so knew what to expect. The main thing was for Arthur to be ready.

After a time he found a decent spot, and they had laid out the bait. Now all they had to do was wait. Yet time passed by without the slightest indication of any activity. Hosea had no issues in waiting, but from here, watching as Arthur fought off yawn after yawn, it was clear nothing would be happening that night. There was still some decent light left, plenty of time left to try and hunt, but Hosea decided to call it off. And he knew he had made the right call when Arthur didn't even argue.

Dinner was little more than rations, and afterwards Hosea buried himself in his latest mystery novel while Arthur dozed by the fire. It might not have been the best hunting trip, but it had been relaxing. Unlike Dutch, he and Arthur could spend the entire night in retaliative silence and be content. He was halfway through his chapter when the younger man spoke, his voice heavy and slurred, as though he was fighting off sleep.

“You ever think Dutch and Grimshaw will have kids?”

What a question that was. Hosea looked up from his book, watching him. Arthur was on his back, one arm across his face, the other resting on his chest. He would have reckoned the lad to be asleep if he hadn't spoken.

“I have to be honest; it's not something I've thought of,” he admitted. “Why? You wanting a tot around?”

“Gods no,” Arthur breathed quickly, the loathing all too easy to hear in his voice.

“Then why are you asking?”

“It's just what people do, right?” He wondered, turning his head to look at him. “They fall in love, and have kids.”

“Some people do,” Hosea nodded, “Not everyone. Bessie and I never had any kids, and we loved each other something fierce.”

“How come?”

“Never was in the cards, I reckon,” he shrugged. It wasn't for the lack of trying, that was for sure. Still he reasoned it was for the best, seeing exactly how things had transpired. He let out a sigh, closing the book as he leaned forward. “Besides, I got you and John, and that's close enough.”

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. “We ain't kids, Hosea. Not really.”

“Maybe not, but you're still sons to me. Always will be, no matter how old you two get. You'll understand that, when you have kids of your own.”

“I ain't never having kids,” Arthur ground out, fighting off another yawn.

“Give it some time,” Hosea laughed, “you're still young. There's plenty of time for you to grow up yet, and you'll feel different when you're older.”

He let out a hum, waving one had his direction. Hosea watched him shift, trying to get comfortable on the ground. Reckoned he would fall asleep here soon. He turned back to his book, trying to pick up where he left off.

“If they have kids, what will we do?”

“Celebrate, I guess,” Hosea didn't hesitate in the answer. The thought had never crossed his mind. Part of him wondered why Arthur was suddenly so fixated on it.

“I mean...well you can't really raise a kid like this. So would they...leave?”

Was that what he was worried about? Hosea found himself chuckling, “You really think that Dutch would go off and live a civilized life within the constraints of society?” He watched as Arthur shook his head. “Then there's your answer.”

No; he could never see Dutch slinking away and living a normal life. The man was so wrapped up in his own visions of freedom he would never be convinced otherwise. If the pair ended having a kid, then he reckoned that Susan would take off and raise the child on her own. Or they would raise the kid here. There was enough of them, he figured, that they could manage.

“But what if-” Arthur had started again, only to be cut off.

“What if you get some rest,” Hosea prompted him. “You are far too tired to be discussing the hypothetical possibilities of what if's.”

Arthur just blinked at him, a frown on his face as he tried to process what he had been told. Eventually though he shrugged, closing his eyes with another yawn. Hosea shook his head, fighting off a chuckle as he turned back to his book. The ideas that boy got into his head sometimes. And how he loved him all the more for it. Yes...if he and Bessie ever had children, he would very much like to imagine they'd be something like Arthur.

* * *


	11. It's a Trap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad everyone is enjoying so far! It's a longer chapter this time, but I don't think anyone minds.

* * *

The next morning proved to be as fruitless as the day before. Hosea had found some tracks that ran the length of the river, and they had tried to follow them, but they disappeared into the undergrowth. They had continued on a ways, hoping to pick up the trail again, but it seemed to be in vain. Finally they had decided on a spot, laid down some bait, and waited. And continued to wait.

Arthur wasn't sure what to think of the whole ordeal. Part of him wanted to see a bear, to try and take one down. But another part of him was apprehensive, memories of their wolf encounter from years ago springing up in his mind. If he thought wolves were bad, he wasn't sure he wanted to deal with a bear. He had clung onto the rifle tightly, keeping it close, jumping at every noise. Once or twice he could swear he heard Hosea chuckle, but the man said nothing, only shaking his head from time to time.

It was well past an hour before the man relented, said something along the lines that they best move on. Hosea seemed disappointed, but Arthur felt the smallest twinge of relief. He wasn't sure he was ready to take on a bear. They made their way back to the river, gathered their horses from where they had been left and started to make their way back towards camp.

Yet Hosea hadn't wanted to return empty handed. They spent another hour on the road, chatting aimlessly about nothing in particular when he had suddenly pulled off. Arthur followed without question, slowing down as they came into a glade. Hosea had suggested they try again, this time for deer. Arthur had set the bait, and found a decent spot to wait. And they didn't have to wait long.

It was a fine deer, and a clean shot. Hosea had seemed pleased, had congratulated him. They stowed the kill on Scout, the stronger of the two steeds, and set off again. It was late morning when they arrived back at camp, much to the delight of the others. Even Dutch seemed pleased, had clasped him on the back. _“Good job Arthur. That's going to make a fine meal!”_ Arthur had mustered just a nod, but inside he practically glowed with pride. It had been a long while since he last provided something for the camp, and it felt good.

And of course it meant he had the honors of preparing it. Something he wasn't too great at. Hosea talked him through it, one step at a time, watching rather than helping as he fumbled through it. John was more eager to help, or at least he had tried to help. The kid ended up covered in blood, looking something awful. Grimshaw had pulled him away after that, had forced him to wash. Sounded more like she was attempting to drown him given all the hollering.

But he returned soon after, wet and bedraggled, strands of hair hanging in his eyes, a scowl on his face. And as always, still wanting to help. He would have gotten dirty again had Hosea not chased him off. It was Dutch who had finally intervened, leading the kid away, over to where the horses were. Without him underfoot, Arthur was able to finish soon enough.

He was packing the last bit away when John came back, running up to him with a grin on his face. “Look!” he all but shouted, gesturing dramatically towards the horses. “I saddled Big Girl all by myself!”

He glanced up, watching as Dutch tightened the last of the straps. Not quite by himself, Arthur mused, but he wouldn't point that out. “And where are you going?”

“Dutch says you and I can go riding,” John answered. Arthur grimaced. How kind of Dutch to volunteer him. The kid was grabbing onto his arm, pulling. “Let's go!”

“Come on, kid,” he shook him off, holding his hands out as he looked down at all the blood that covered him. “I need to wash up first.”

“Then can we?” the kid was whining. God did he ever hate the whining.

“We'll see,” he promised lightly. “I've been riding all morning, just give me a minute to catch my breath, will ya?”

He sighed in dramatic fashion, rolling his eyes. “Fine..”

He shook his head, muttering under his breath as John took off stomping. Near him he heard Hosea laugh, and found the man watching him when he looked up. “What?”

“Reminds me of you, that's all,” Hosea chuckled.

“Please don't say that,” Arthur pleaded. He was nothing like the kid, didn't want to be compared to him even in the slightest.

“It's true,” Hosea pressed, “and you can't argue with that, now can you?” The man had lit a cigarette, leaning back in his chair. “You did good today.”

The compliment was unexpected, left him stumbling for words, but he managed to nod his thanks. He glanced up as Dutch approached him, one eyebrow raised as he took in his appearance.

“I'm almost inclined to ask if it was you or the deer that got skinned, what with all that blood on you,” the man mused, looking him over.

“He just needs the practice,” Hosea answered, blowing out a stream of smoke. “He'll be a right expert before long, I don't doubt it.”

“I do believe you are right on that,” Dutch agreed lightly, turning towards Hosea then. “We need to make another run into town, stock up on supplies. Susan is getting the wagon ready now.”

“Again?” Hosea frowned, snubbing out his cigarette. “We just went earlier this week.”

“I know, but we're low on many things, and out of several others,” he trailed off, looking at Arthur. He did his best to avoid Dutch's gaze, but could surmise he was referring to the whiskey, or the lack of it. “Arthur, you stay here with John, keep an eye on camp. And please, clean yourself up a little.”

He needed more than a little cleaning. Arthur had glanced down, had seen how stained his clothes had become. Mildly he wondered if he would even be able to get the blood out. He looked back up as Hosea patted him on the shoulder, a smile on the man's face.

“Alright, we'll get going. I'll see if we can find some herbs, spruce up that meat for tonight. We're gonna feast like kings, that's for certain.”

He waved them off, trying his best to hide the proud smile. He hadn't felt this good for a time, and it was a nice feeling. Arthur waited until they departed before dragging himself to the wash bin, stripping down to his smalls, washing the blood off his skin. Then he redressed in a simple shirt and clean pants, and set about trying to clean the bloody clothes properly, scrubbing at the stain with an old brush.

John hung around, prompting and pouting, claiming he was taking far too long. Kept on edging him to go riding. It didn't matter how many times Arthur had chastised him, telling him to wait. They couldn't even go anywhere, not until the others came back. John was ever persistent, only relenting when Arthur snapped at him, telling him to shut his damn mouth that the kid backed off.

He went over towards the fire, stomping his feet the entire time, and even Copper who had been happily sleeping there made his way quickly to the other side to avoid him. The kid had sat down on the log, head hanging in his hands in a pitiful pout. And Hosea had said that he was just like him. How ridiculous was that?

Arthur cleaned his shirt as best he could, and hung it up to dry. Not perfect, no, but definitely better, and maybe Grimshaw could do more when they came back. John was still sitting by the fire, a scowl on his face, and Arthur was not in the mood to deal with him, and so did his best to avoid the kid. He grabbed his journal instead, sitting down near his tent, and set about writing. Arthur hadn't written much the past few days, a few drabbles, had scribbled a little.

It felt good to be able to write, to really write. He focused on his trip with Hosea, highlighting the stories he had been told, and of course about the deer he had bagged. It spanned a few pages, and of course some of those pages were sketches, interjected in between the words. He smiled, looking at everything, proud of what he had managed to do. He glanced up then, the smile still lingering on his face as he glanced around the camp.

It took a moment before he noticed. The stillness. How quiet it was in camp. Arthur frowned, the pencil still in hand as he looked around. The fire was burning low, and Copper was still stretched out lazily near it, fast asleep. But he couldn't see...

“John?” he called out, moving to his feet. He was met with silence. Maybe the kid had just fallen asleep, he reckoned. The tents were the first place Arthur checked, but they were all empty. He moved back out to the fire, glancing around the area. Where the hell was he?  
  


“John?” he called a bit louder this time. Kid had probably wandered off, was probably off playing. Stupid boy...he knew he was supposed to stay close.

Arthur found himself wandering closer to the stream, eyes skimming the water. Nothing there...though that was probably a good thing. He'd hate to have to explain to Dutch exactly how John drowned, and that he wasn't the one who had done it. The twisted thought did nothing to amuse him. In fact it only made things worse, his heart beating in his ears. Where the hell was the kid?  
  


“Marston, so help me if you are messin' around, I will beat your ass and apologize to Dutch after I'm done,” he called out, scanning the treeline, hoping to find something, anything at this point. But nothing...and worse, everything at camp seemed fine. Birds happily chirping, squirrels scampering, the horses grazing lazily...the horses...or rather just one horse.

He just about felt his heart stop. Clover was the only one there. Big Girl was no where to be seen. Where the hell? It was a thought he couldn't he even finish, pushing his way over to where she was. He was going to kill the kid. Just because Arthur wouldn't take him out on a ride right that moment, John just decided he was going to go himself? The worst part of everything was the fact he hadn't even noticed the kid leaving. Dutch really was going to kill him.

Shit...he turned back, looking at the camp. If the others came back and found the camp left unguarded, Dutch would have his hide. But how much more upset would the man be to learn that he had just let John run off on his own, and he had done nothing? Shit...he swore again, digging out his watch to see the time. They hadn't been gone long. He reckoned there was still some time yet before anyone came back. And so far they hadn't had any trouble with people poking around. He had to try to find him.

“Come on girl,” he soothed Clover as he approached, moving to saddle her. The only question that remained was what direction did John go in? He could only hope the kid had gone to the pond. It would make sense, as John didn't know the area all that well and wouldn't want to risk getting lost. He paused, seeing the bit of paper wedged under the saddle, torn and wrinkled. The writing was poor, misspelled, and barely legible, but with some effort he could make it out.

_Gon robbin._

“What in the hell?” he trailed off. Had the kid lost his damn mind? What the hell was he planning to rob? There was nothing out here, and even if there was he was a god damn kid. He had no business trying to rob something. Then suddenly he couldn't breathe, the realization hitting him. The memory of their conversation the other night hitting him hard.

The stage...the god damn stage. It was set to come through today. No wonder the kid had been so persistent about riding out. Arthur all but threw the note on the ground, hefting the saddle onto Clover, meek apologies as he fumbled with straps. He had to move, and fast.

What the hell was the kid thinking? Arthur had told him no, had told him it was a trap. Despite how much he had wanted it to be true, the others were right; it _was_ a trap. It had to be a trap...

Even if it it wasn't, he was just a kid, and he was going to try and rob this thing on his own? He didn't even have a gun...he paused, glancing back to the rock.

His gun, the rifle he had used for hunting earlier was gone. “Dammit,” he cursed yet again, hoisting himself up. He was no stranger to cursing, but he was quickly starting to break a record, of that he was sure. “Let's go.”

He pushed her from the moment they left the trees. A pace she was not used to, protesting slightly at first, but finding a rhythm when Arthur did not let up. It was as almost as she could sense something was wrong, could feel his apprehension, and instead of resisting him, she put her best effort forward. Arthur kept encouraging her, following the road to the west. They had talked about ambushing the stage at the bend near the river, where the road narrowed and curved along the treeline. No doubt John had taken that information, had planned to follow through with it.

His mind raced, trying to figure out if he had enough time. The stage was supposed to get to Springdale around five, which meant it would pass through the area around four...it had already been a quarter past when Arthur had glanced at the watch. He found himself praying despite the fact he wasn't religious. Praying to whoever or whatever was out there that he would make it in time.

“Come on,” he coxed her, pushing a little harder, “Come on girl.”

It was just up ahead, around the corner there, and already he could hear the commotion, even above the pounding of his heart. The stage was the first thing he saw, stranded in the midst of the road, the horse sprawled out on the ground in a pool of blood. There were two...three, no five men surrounding it, each one armed. A sixth man stood near the front, holding someone down...John..

“Get off of him you bastard!”

The man looked up at the approach, the yell catching his attention. The same confused and alarmed look on his face as the bullet tore through his head. Arthur hadn't even registered the fact he had pulled his gun. The revolver was small, but effective if used right, and he could only thank Dutch for teaching him that.

He fired two more shots; a second man dead. All before the others even moved. But they were moving now, guns raised, yelling for his surrender. Arthur half leapt, half tumbled out of the saddle, Clover barely even slowing as he hit the ground, hooves narrowly missing him as he rolled. There was more gunfire, bullets passing over his head, and he struggled to his feet. His next shot missed, firing too soon, but the following one hit, the man stumbling, struggling to lift his gun. Arthur fired again, pressing against the stage for cover from the bullets that were coming his way, heart pounding so fast it nearly hurt. He hadn't been around this much gunfire before, and never this alone...

John was screaming, yells and cries intermixed together, and Arthur risked a quick glance his way. He had been tied down with rope, was half covered in mud...but he was alive, and from here he seemed alright...

Arthur ducked out from his cover as he heard one of the men running up. He fired another round, a solid hit right in the neck. The man dropped, a gurgled scream as he clawed at his throat. Arthur brought the gun up again, focusing in on the next assailant, pulling the trigger. Only to hear a click. Shit...he was out of bullets. And he didn't have any more. He hadn't been prepared for this, hadn't a chance to grab anything from camp.

The man racing towards him saw it, and knew he was out of bullets. The man had lowered his own gun, started to reach out to grab him. Arthur threw the revolver, swinging his other fist as the man came close, connecting with his jaw. Adrenaline drove him forward, the knowledge that if he lost this fight he would die. And the fact that John would die as well overrode the fear that was trying to drown him.

This man was older, bigger, and stronger than he was, but Arthur's sudden ferocity must have surprised him because he found himself on top, pinning the man down. Fingers grasped the man's shirt, a punch delivered with the other fist, and another, could feel the crack, could swear he had broken the man's nose.

Someone tackled him from behind, an arm wrapping around his neck, pulling him off. He could feel the cold metal against the side of his head, the threat clear even without the gruff warning that was whispered. Against better judgment he threw his head back, grimacing at the explosion of pain as bone met bone. He could hear the other curse, could feel the grip loosen, just enough for him to pull free.

Arthur was on him, reaching for the gun, knocking his assailant to the ground. The gun was lost in the chaos, but it didn't detour him. Arthur delivered a few solid punches, the last of which made the man under him go limp, but he didn't get a chance to feel relieved, the previous man tossing him to the ground. Arthur rolled with the momentum, trying to get his feet under him. He made it halfway, then was tackled, hands grabbing at his arms, attempting to push him back down.

Arthur freed his left arm, swung out, connected with the man's jaw, making him stagger. Only for a moment. The man answered with a blow of his own, straight to his gut, and Arthur let out a gasp as a sharp pain raced through him, unable to breathe for a brief moment. He bit his lip, shoving his weight forward, managing to knock the man off his feet, wasted no time in climbing on him again, delivering another punch. Damn he was tough bastard.

And he was starting to prove himself even tougher. The man blocked the next punch, had somehow managed to get a leg free, had managed to flip Arthur under him. Now he was the one trapped, trying to block off the blows. One hit... a second hit...a third hit left him reeling. He blocked the next one even as his vision wavered, and could already taste the blood, could swear he had lost a tooth. Fingers wrapped around his neck, pinning him to the ground, and a sudden panic hit him when they tightened, leaving him unable to breathe. He clawed at the hands, choking as fingers tightened, could barely hear the man above him cursing. He needed to breathe...

Then air...sweet air. Half choking, half gasping as the grip loosened. Arthur had barely heard the gunshot, but he could see the man slump, could see the blood pouring from the open wound. He threw the body off, scrambling backwards, coughing as he drew in one ragged breath after another. His heart was hammering still, body shaking, a deep nauseated feeling quickly taking over, threatening to make him sick.

“What in the _hell_?!”

It was Dutch. Dutch had found them. Arthur wasn't sure how, but he couldn't have been happier to see the man just then. He was still riding towards them on King, skidding to a stop near John, wasting no time in falling to the ground near the boy, cutting him free.

“You okay son?” he was fussing over the boy, first asking, then demanding, “you're okay, it's okay, I got you, you're okay.” Dutch pulled John close, holding the crying boy to his chest. Arthur still sat where he was, trying to breathe, to calm his heart, to stop the shaking. That and trying to not throw up right then and there.

“God damn you,” Dutch's voice was deep and angry, angrier than Arthur had ever heard it before. Terrifying almost. He met the man's gaze and immediately wished he hadn't. If he had thought his voice was terrifying then his look was all that much worse.

“God damn you, Arthur,” he all but spit out. “What the hell were you thinking? Trying to rob this thing? After I explicitly told you not to?!”

“I wasn't,” he started to defend himself, but the man cut him off, the anger in his voice rising.

“Of course you weren't. You didn't think, you never think! Out of all the things...god damn you!”

“Dutch,” Arthur pleaded, pushing himself to feet, wincing. Now that the panic was subsiding he was beginning to hurt. Damn that bastard had gotten the better of him.

“Bad enough that you disobeyed, but then you drag John in on this?” Dutch growled. He was still holding John, one hand cupped around the boy's head, the other rubbing his back, trying to calm him.

“But John-” he tried to explain, had to make him understand that he would never had done this. That this hadn't been his fault. But he was beginning to see it was a lost cause, the fury in the other's eyes unlike anything he had seen before. And for the first time since meeting Dutch, Arthur realized something. He was afraid of him.

“You've pushed your luck before, but his time...I've had it with you and your antics,” the man all but growled. He opened his mouth, about to say something else, but faltered at the new voices on the wind. Arthur turned, looking over his shoulder, could see the horses riding up the road. Shit...lawmen. Someone must have heard the commotion...

“Get out of here, Arthur,” Dutch snapped at him. The man moved to his feet, one arm firmly around John as he addressed the boy, “You're coming back to camp with me.”

For a moment he could only stand there, rooted to the ground, unable to breathe. He was taking John back to camp...but not him? What did that mean? He couldn't be serious, could he? A new fear was quickly building in him, a new possibility he had never even thought of. Dutch had mounted King, had pulled John up with him, had turned, a new wave of anger crossing his face when he saw that Arthur hadn't even moved.

“Get out of here! Go!”

“Dutch,” he hated how weak his voice sounded. But he would beg, would throw himself to his knees and grovel if that was what it took to get the other to reconsider. Almost considered it, especially with the pain in his gut growing. Why did his stomach hurt so much all of the sudden?

“Now!” the man screamed at him, a new kind of fury building. It was enough that Arthur didn't consider asking a second time. Instead he turned and ran, whistling for Clover. The mare hadn't gone far, and he hefted himself in the saddle with a groan. Damn, he was going to hurt later on. But that somehow was the least of his worries.

He gave her a kick, urging her off the road and into the trees, away from the river, away from the law, and that whole mess. And away from his family...his entire life. What the hell was he going to do on his own?

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for nothing...


	12. Wounded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise to never leave a chapter like that again....maybe....

* * *

Dutch had stayed long enough to ensure that Arthur made it to the treeline before taking off himself. He had John in front of him on King, had whistled for Big Girl, hoping the horse would follow and pleased to see that she did. He took them to the right, the opposite direction in which Arthur had gone. No doubt the lawmen had seen them; yet there were only a couple, and he doubted they would waste the effort in following them. Still it was a risk he wasn't willing to take. He had taken a moment to glance back after crossing the river, could see their vague forms as they pulled up to the carnage, could see them point in his rough direction. They needed to keep moving. He urged King on, disappearing into the trees, kept going, doing his best to hush John, trying to keep him quiet.

He found a thin trail that led up the mountain, followed it for a time, crossed the river again and came back down the other side. It was quiet here, and he brought King to a stop, listening, waiting, but there was nothing. They were safe, for now at least.

He coaxed King into a trot, gave another whistle for Big Girl to follow, making the way back to camp slowly. John had fallen asleep in front of him, the boy exhausted from the whole ordeal. He reached up with a shaky hand, brushing away muddy locks of hair from the boy's face. There were a few bruises, but for the most part he seemed to be okay. God damn it; what a mess.

It had been sheer luck he had investigated. They had been on their way back from town when a stranger passing by shouted something about a robbery up the road. Hosea had been driving the wagon, Dutch riding alongside. He had been curious, mostly interested to see what other threat might be out there. Thieves did not like other thieves on their turf. It was a lesson he had learned from Colm, and it had been the main reason why they had left Ohio. So he had split off from Hosea, had just wanted to see who they may be dealing with.

It was to his shock and surprise to see them there. Quickly followed by sheer terror; John trussed up on the ground, Arthur pinned under another man, the ground littered with corpses. He was a good shot, thank the lord, because there was little room for error. But the relief was short lived, morphing into an anger he hadn't felt in a long, long time. And it had only intensified as he held John, the small kid a crying, shaking mess, terrified by the whole ordeal. Dutch didn't know what had possessed Arthur into doing this. How many times had he told him that it was trap? Damn him...he could have gotten himself killed, could have gotten John killed...and for what? Pride?

He wasn't sure what he was going to do. A sound lecture, for certain, but something more had to be done. Arthur had to understand the severity of his actions, had to understand that he couldn't do something like this ever again. Arthur had been acting out lately, and try as he might, Dutch could not figure out what was going on with him. Hosea and he had been arguing about it as late, the older man claiming Arthur had always been this way, but no...Arthur had never been this reckless.

Dutch let out a sigh, fingers pressing against the bridge of his nose, trying to chase away the headache that was forming. First he had to get back, had to see to John, had to calm down. Heavens knew that he needed to keep his cool. He would talk to Hosea and get some guidance. The man was always good at that. Together they would figure this out, they would. They would somehow figure it all out.

* * *

He didn't look back. Couldn't bring himself to do so. For a time he hardly noticed or paid attention to where he was going, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to care. Confusion had mixed with disbelief, fear with anger, anxiety with despair. A jumble of emotions so severe that it almost made him sick; or maybe it was the pain that was doing that. 

What had started out as a burn in stomach had slowly turned to a deep throb, and it hadn't taken long to spot the blood staining his clothes just above his right hip. It hadn't seemed bad at first, and he had kept a hand pressed against it, a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding. But the further they went, the more apparent it became that something was indeed wrong. Arthur let out a groan as he shifted in the saddle, pressing against the wound with a grimace. He couldn't just keep going like this. He needed help, and he needed to figure out where the hell he even was.

It took a moment, but eventually he did recognize the area, the realization coming to him slowly as though through a fog. He had taken John riding this way more than once. It was comforting, but only for a moment, as it was soon replaced by despair. Did knowing where he was even matter? After all, it wasn't like he could go back to camp. He was on his own now. In mere minutes, his entire way of life had changed, and he hadn't the slightest clue of what he was going to do. But he had to do something.

He coaxed Clover to a stop, something she was all too happy to obliged. Poor girl; she looked as tired and exhausted as he was. It had been a long time she had seen this much action. He rubbed her neck affectionately, giving her quiet praise. Then he fumbled in his pockets, searching, hoping to find something to give her, but he came back empty handed. He didn't have his satchel with him, nor his coat; he had left camp so fast he hadn't grabbed anything. His only supplies were in the saddle bags, and even they were meager.

“Sorry, girl, I don't...I don't have anything,” he apologized, “But we'll find something...we'll be okay.”

At least he hoped so. Slowly he eased himself out of the saddle, grimacing as his feet hit the ground. He had to hold onto the pommel, had to give himself a moment or risk simply collapsing. Once he was sure he could hold himself up, he dug through the saddle bags, pulling out what little he could find. His bandanna, a book of matches, a couple of cigarettes, a money clip with a few dollars, a half empty flask of water. Wonderful, he was in fantastic shape.

He pushed himself away, stumbling over to where a fallen tree was, having to take a moment to catch his breath. First things first, he needed a fire. Day was fading, and fast, and along with that the chill of the night was creeping in. It wasn't a brutal cold, but without his coat it was going to be unpleasant. He needed to keep warm, and maybe he could catch some food...the thought made him laugh, shaking his head sadly. He had no weapons on him, the only gun he had carried out here had been lost in the fight. He had his knife, true, but what good would that do in hunting?

That was okay, he breathed, grimacing as another wave of pain shot through him. He knew how to forage. Hosea had taught him what berries and roots were safe to eat, which ones to avoid. He could find something to keep himself fed, at least long enough to get himself resupplied. How he was going to do that exactly, he wasn't certain. It was something he would worry about later. Right now, he needed a fire, and he needed to see this damn wound.

Lucky for him, the fallen tree had a collection of branches, most of which had long broken off and were scattered on the ground. It was a slow process, but he managed to collect them, fumbling to get them to stack right, slowly coaxing the flames to life. He let it burn a short while before adding some larger branches, ensuring it would not die out before it truly got going. Once it was burning decently he hobbled back over to where Clover was, digging through the saddle bags, collecting the bandanna and the flask of water. Then he sat himself down, resting against the log, eyes closed as he fought for a breath. Damn, that had been a lot harder than it should have been. He took another breath, opening his eyes as he glanced down.

The blood had soaked through the bottom of his shirt, and the upper part of his pants, had spread so the stain was now larger than his hand. It scared him, briefly, but he shoved that fear aside, knowing he had to see to the wound, that he had to get it to stop bleeding. He grimaced, shaky fingers untucking his shirt, pulling the fabric away from the wound with a hiss. Shit...he didn't remember getting shot...

He used the water from his flask, pouring it on his skin and using the bandanna to wipe away the blood. It took a few tries, but eventually he could see the wound. It a long slice, not a hole like he was expecting. That last bastard must have had a knife he realized dully...he hissed again, pressing the cloth against the cut, whimpering at the pain, but it didn't detour him. Arthur pressed down hard, biting his lip to stop from crying out. He had to get the bleeding to stop...

This wasn't the first time he had been hurt, but it was certainly the worst. And part of him was afraid; he didn't know what to do. Desperately he wanted Hosea, he wanted Grimshaw, hell he even wanted Dutch, knew that in any other circumstance that they would help him, that they would make things better. But now?  
  


He couldn't help the cry this time, more from the emotional stab of pain than the physical one. Was it really over? Everything he had worked for...the bitter feeling clawed at his stomach, the nausea threatening to take over once again. Part of him knew, had always known, that this could not last forever. That one day he would be on his own again, but he had always thought it would be in the future, far in the future, that the decision would be his to make. Not foisted on him unexpectedly like this.

Yet here he was, injured, alone, not even five dollars to his name. A single pair of clothes...hell, most of what he owned had been left back at camp. Another sob he couldn't help. His things...the pictures of his parents, his hat, his journal...what would happen with Copper? Hastily he reached up, wiping angrily at the tears that were there, only to be shocked by the blood that was left behind. His hands were covered in blood. And he was still bleeding. Damn it...he didn't know how to make it stop.

Maybe he could ride back to town, see the doctor there. But even if he made it, how the hell was he going to pay? They would take one look at him and send him on his way. No one had time for a useless beggar. That was a lesson he had learned as a kid. They would rather he bleed out on the street than give him charity. A harsh lesson learned at a young age; don't trust anyone. A lesson he should have remembered, he thought bitterly.

He folded the fabric, trying to find a bit that was still clean, pressing it against the wound again, biting his lip. He would be alright. He would figure things out. He had survived on his own for three damn years, and that was back when he didn't know anything. He had learned a lot since then. He could do it again...

He tried to reassure himself that this time wouldn't be like last time. No longer was he the frightened, half-starved dirty child that prowled the city streets in search of a handout. No...he knew how to feed himself, how to stand up for himself. Knew how steal without being caught. Arthur let out a sigh, head leaning back as he closed his eyes, a new resolve setting in. He could do this.

In the morning, once he felt better, he would head to town. Slip into the saloon, see what fools he could swipe from. Get some money in his pocket, and then head out of there. Maybe he would wait around long enough for things to calm down, head back into camp to get his things. Provided they would still be there. Surely most of his things would be given to John, but they would have no use for his photos, his hat, or his journal...surely Dutch would let him take those, right? The man had to at least let him come say goodbye to everyone...didn't he? Not necessarily.

Arthur bit his lip, fighting off the sob that was there. Maybe going back to camp wasn't such a good idea after all. There was no telling what Dutch would do if he tried. The man had been angry with him in the past, had been annoyed and irritated with him more than once so that wasn't anything new. But this time? This time Dutch had been furious. Furious to a point that Arthur hadn't ever seen, hadn't even thought was possible. And yet, here they were...

And what would the man think of him now? Seeing him here, like this? How pathetic he was...couldn't even get a god damn cut to stop bleeding. The bandanna was thoroughly soaked, but it was the only thing he had. Arthur tried to wring it out with little success, cursing as he wadded it back up, and pressed it against his side. Fucking pathetic...no wonder Dutch didn't want him around.

That was alright. He didn't need Dutch. He didn't need anyone. He would get through this. All he had to do was stop the bleeding, and make it town. Steal a few things, get some proper care, and then get the hell out of here. He would head back west, find a place to lay low for a while, and go from there.

He let out a sigh, head hanging forward, new determination on his mind. He had this. He would be alright. Everything would be just fine. He wasn't a kid anymore. He could figure it out. Like Dutch had said, he was a god damn adult, and it was time he started acting like one. And that was exactly what he intended to do.


	13. Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I promise this chapter ends a little better. Thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far, it does make my day :)

The anger that had started to dissipate on the ride back all but reared it's ugly head once more when he arrived back at camp. Susan had taken the boy, had cleaned him up and settled him down and somehow managed to get him to sleep at a decent hour. All the while Dutch rehashed a brief version of what had taken place with Hosea, the surge of emotions nearly making him sick. The older man refused to believe it, had denied it all the while shaking his head, claiming there must be more to the situation.

But what more could there be? He had seen it with his own eyes, the imagery still burned in his mind. They could have lost them, lost them both. After everything they had been through, and all of these years, to have lost them so suddenly to something so stupid...part of Dutch blamed Hosea for putting the idea in Arthur's head, for encouraging it in the first place. It would be so easy to place blame...but no. Arthur had made his choice, had done so on his own. He had become increasingly irresponsible over the past few months. What in the world was he going to do about it?

Hosea had talked with him, his calm words helping to ground him, give him something to focus on, to help see reason. In the end he was left with more questions than answers, but a clearer grasp on the reality of the situation. He was still angry, would be angry for a while, he presumed. But he had promised to not yell, or at least do his best not to yell when Arthur finally came in. Hosea had encouraged him to listen, to let Arthur explain...if there could ever be an explanation for his choices. All there was to do now was wait.

But as one hour became two, and two became three, the anger slowly dwindled, slowly morphing into concern. And by the fourth hour, it had all been replaced by fear. Dutch had tried to keep himself busy, had tried to lose himself in Miller's words, had even started writing a lecture...no a speech, one he would recite to the man when Arthur finally rode in. The paper sat, half-finished, somewhere in his tent, all but forgotten. Now he stood at the edge of the camp, eyes searching the road, ears trained for any sounds.

“Any sign of him?”

Hosea was worried as well. Could hear the concern in the other man's voice. Dutch shook his head, though he doubted that the other could see. Night had long fallen, but sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. Where the hell was he? Arthur was never out this late; not on his own.

“You sure the law didn't catch up with him?”

“Pretty sure,” he answered. Memories of them riding up the road, of them looking his direction. The opposite direction Arthur had gone. He doubted the law had even seen Arthur's departure. Or maybe that was what he wanted to believe. After all, the law hadn't followed his trail...

“You willing to bet his life on it?”

He turned, meeting Hosea's gaze. The lantern he carried gave off some light, enough to see the worry in his eyes. Dutch turned away, a sigh in his throat, the thought burning in the back of his mind. Bless Hosea, his dearest friend. No...no he wasn't willing to make that bet.

“Where are you going?” Hosea followed him as Dutch crossed the gap. King was still saddled, had been forgotten in all the chaos, but now it was a blessing. He hoisted himself up, taking the lantern from the other man.

“I'm headed into town. Gonna see if the sheriff is getting ready to hang a fool.”

“If he's there, don't do anything stupid.”

Dutch nearly rolled his eyes. How little did Hosea think of him? “You don't trust me?”

Hosea reached out, grabbing King's bridle, holding him there. His voice tight, serious. “You come get me. I don't want to find the town hanging two fools in the morning.”

“Don't worry, old friend,” he reassured him. He acted like this was the first time they had busted someone out of jail. Of course, the last time it had been them in the cell together, but that was another story.

“Promise me, Dutch,” Hosea warned, still holding onto King. Dutch let out a sigh, making a vague promise to return within the hour. It was enough to satisfy him, and with a click of his tongue they were off.

The ride to town was uneventful, the road quiet. The town itself even quieter; even the saloon was calm, no drunken ruckus taking place. He hitched King outside, made his way up the street on foot. The sheriff's was towards the end of the road, a larger building, the cells situated underground. Perhaps a blessing in this case. It was easy to sneak around, to kneel in the mud near the window, risking a lantern to see better. The place looked empty, but he risked a few calls, waiting to hear a response, but nothing came save for the scurrying of rats.

He had mixed feelings about that. He was glad to see Arthur wasn't trapped down there, but new worry rose as he had no other ideas as to where the man might be. Dutch stopped in at the saloon, bought a drink, risked asking about him, claiming his cousin hadn't come home. The bartender had shrugged, hadn't really shown much care or concern about his predicament.

The return to camp seemed longer, somehow. New apprehension growing, a feeble hope of good news on his return. But Hosea shook his head to the unanswered question. Arthur had not come in while he was gone. Still he was determined, took King back out despite the stallion's irritation. He rode the opposite direction this time, eyes searching the darkness, hoping against better judgment to find something...anything.

The wreckage of the stage was still there. Hauled off to one side. The body of the horse slowly decaying, flies buzzing greedily around the open wounds. The rest of the bodies had been picked up, disposed of. Dutch eased King to a stop, searching the area as best he could. Arthur had taken off to the left, towards the trees. He urged King that way, calling out in feeble hope he would get a response. His horse was less than willing to head into the trees in the middle of the night, Dutch cursing under his breath as he kicked the stubborn steed on.

It was slow, far slower than he wanted, and the damn horse near threw him at one point. Frustrated he dismounted, threatening the animal with every known curse imaginable. King simply pawed the ground, snorting his own frustration. He was a fine horse, but by god could he ever be stubborn. Quite like Arthur, he supposed.

The thought gave him pause, the same worry rising, eating away at him. What had happened? Could he be...no. Dutch swallowed the thought. No...no, Arthur was fine. Had been fine when they split off. He could look after himself. Truth be told the boy probably settled in somewhere for the night, would be back by morning, when he could actually see where he was going. It wasn't a bad idea, Dutch mused.

He turned back around, trying to see if he could find the trail that led back out to the road. They were surrounded, enveloped by trees, dark shadows looming over them. At this rate he probably would be in here till morning. Dutch let out a sigh, pausing as he saw the faint flicker in amongst the trees. Seems someone else had a similar idea. He grabbed King's reigns, coaxing the horse the along, following the source of light.

He hoped they were approachable. That they were somewhat friendly; even so he had his pistol ready, one hand hovering close. He knew how dangerous camping in the open like this could be. That they could shoot him before he even got close. But maybe...maybe whoever was here would let him stay for the night. Or at least until some light graced this land enough for him to find his way out of this damn forest.

He slowed as he approached, clearing his throat, calling out. Didn't want whoever was here to be alarmed. The only response he got was the nickering of the horse, the bobbing of the head all too familiar. Clover...

“Arthur?” He couldn't even begin to explain the relief he felt. Dutch pushed forward, letting go of King's reigns as he made his way into the makeshift camp. Arthur was near the fire, half hunched over, chin resting against his chest, sound asleep...stupid boy. Did he not realize the danger he put himself in? How easy it would be for someone to rob him like this?

He stepped over the log, reaching down to wake him, pausing as he saw his face. Or rather the blood that covered it. “Arthur?”

No response. Dutch set the lantern on the ground, hands reaching out, tentatively cupping his chin and raising his head, drawing a groan from the other. Arthur was sporting some good bruises, a split lip, but that wasn't where this blood had come from.

“Don't...touch me,” the warning was little more than a gruff muttering, the words half slurred, the man only vaguely aware of what was happening.

“It's alright, son,” Dutch reassured him quietly, frowning at the bruising on his neck. Bruising, but no blood. His fingers trailed down further, catching Arthur's hands, turning them over. Blood covered his palms, had started to dry between his fingers, more blood coating the front of his shirt...

“Get your hands off of me.” He was a little more awake this time, had pulled his hands from his grasp, had tried to pull away.

“Arthur, it's me,” he reached back out, only now seeing the dark stain on the bottom half of the man's shirt. That was a lot of blood...he felt his heart skip a beat.

“I know who it is,” Arthur spat, cursing as Dutch lifted the corner of his shirt away from the skin. There was a hiss, and he all but smacked his hands away, “I said don't touch me, you bastard.”

“You watch your mouth, boy,” he warned, the tightness in his voice causing Arthur to flinch. Dutch cursed under his breath, shaking his head. He felt guilty, but damn. He didn't doubt that Arthur was hurting, but he wasn't about to let the boy disrespect him like that. There was a whine, a sharp inhale as the shirt was lifted again, a mess of blood too thick to see through. Shit...this didn't look good.

“What the hell happened?” he had muttered the question more to himself, but Arthur's response shocked him all the more.

“Like you care.”

“Of course I care, you idiot,” he ground out, trying to figure out what needed to be done. Dutch fumbled in his pocket, yanking out a handkerchief, trying to clean up some of the blood. Felt his stomach turn when he watched a large wad of it slid off...only to realize it wasn't a clot of blood. He let out a breath. It was just a bandanna, so thoroughly soaked in blood that you couldn't tell the difference. He could see the wound now, not as bad as he had first thought. A few inches long, not too wide, but bleeding pretty good...he let out a breath.

“Okay...okay; this doesn't look too bad, just hold on, let me help you here.”  
  


“I can take care of it myself,” Arthur pushed him away again, fingers fumbling to press the fabric against the bleeding wound.

“Of course,” Dutch rolled his eyes, moving to his feet. “Because you're doing such a fine job as it is,” he all but cursed under his breath, reaching into King's saddle bags. He always kept some bandages with him. They had proved useful on more than one occasion. This wound here would need stitching, but this would help to quench the bleeding until they got back to camp at least.

He knelt back down, reaching out grab the handkerchief, growling as Arthur brushed him off once more. God damn stubborn boy. He was going to kill himself at this rate. “Arthur, that's enough. We don't have the time to be messing around.”

The boy relented, just barely, hissing as the fabric was folded, pressed tight against the wound. Wrapping the bandage around his midsection proved a little more tedious, Arthur fighting him on that as well. Damn him; didn't he realize that Dutch was just trying to help? He wound the last bit, tying it off with a firm yank, drawing a gasp from the other. Not surprising; he had to be hurting because heaven help him Arthur was usually never this testy.

“Alright, I think that'll do for now; let's get you back to camp.”

“I ain't going back to camp,” Arthur snapped in between heavy breaths. That simple ordeal had exhausted him, and the paleness in his face all but alluded to how much blood he had lost.

“You're talking nonsense,” Dutch shook his head as he kicked out the fire, convinced the man was on the verge of delirium. He reached out, one hand cupping under his arm, attempting to help him up. But Arthur would have none of it, simply pushed him off with a hiss.

“Leave me alone,” he spat out, a whimper escaping as well, “Just...just go.”

“Arthur,” Dutch all but growled, “I am in no mood for this.” Hurt or not, he wasn't going to tolerate this sort of insolence. Had already tolerated far too much of it in his opinion. But Arthur made no move, gave no indication that he had changed his mind. Pushed him away again when he reached down a second time. Finally Dutch snapped, the anger returning.

“So help me, Arthur, you are coming right now. If I have to hogtie you and throw you across the back of my horse, so be it. Or you can be civilized and ride back. Which do you prefer?”

He wasn't sure if he could follow through on the threat, but by heavens he was going to try. He hadn't the faintest idea of what was going through the boy's head, but they didn't have the time for it now. Didn't have the energy either, judging by the look on Arthur's pale face.

With a groan he relented, pushing himself to his feet and waving off any help Dutch tried to offer. He managed somehow to make it to Clover on his own. Even more surprising he had managed to pull himself up into the saddle. At least his stubbornness was good for something. Dutch mounted up as well, watching as Arthur fumbled with the reigns.

“You okay to ride back on your own?”   
  


“Fine,” the stunted reply wasn't very convincing. Dutch was half convinced Arthur would fall off before they got back. He was almost going to argue, to make Arthur mount up behind him, but no...he doubted the other would listen and it had been a challenge to get him this far as it was.

“Alright, let's go then,” he turned King, trying to pick a route out of the forest.

“I know the way,” Arthur spat out, taking the lead. God damn him, stubborn fool. But at least Arthur seemed to know where he was going, and that was something. Now they just needed to get home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So does Dutch redeem himself in this chapter? Maybe a little? Can't have him completely insane, yet...
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	14. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for any tissues that may be harmed in the reading of this chapter. Read at your own risk.

A long day had stretched into a long evening, and into an even longer night, and now in the early hours of the morning, despite how tired he felt, Hosea could not bring himself to sleep. First they had come back to camp, only to find it empty; a strange sight indeed. Dutch had taken off down the road earlier, and had returned with a dirty and bruised John, had been furious. Had shared the story, much to Hosea's disbelief. Surely Arthur wouldn't...Arthur was smarter than that...

Hosea had managed to calm Dutch somehow. Hadn't done much to calm himself, even now still worked up in anxiety. It had only increased when Dutch set out again in search of Arthur. He had come back an hour later empty handed. Had left again, promising to be back by morning. Hosea had shooed Grimshaw off to bed then, though he doubted she slept. He wouldn't...couldn't until they were back safe and sound.

And the night just seemed to get worse. John had woken, the boy all too eager to crawl into his lap, a mess of tears, full of confession. His heart hurt all the worse, trying to reassure the boy that despite his transgressions, it hadn't truly been his fault. John didn't need that kind of guilt; he was so young still.

It took some time before John calmed, falling back into a fitful sleep. Hosea held him, rubbing soothing circles on his back, humming a soft tune, trying to fill the quiet air. He heard, rather than saw the horse approach, turned to expect Dutch empty handed once more. So it was sweet relief that it was Arthur that he saw, and he was quick to his feet. As quick as one could be with a young boy in their lap.

“Arthur?” Hosea all but breathed, crossing the gap. He slowed, taking in the boy's appearance. Even in the dim light he could see the mess, the dark stains on his clothes, and the paleness on his bruised face that was far too apparent. Dutch was shortly behind, a grim expression on his face.

“You alright?” he reached up to Clover's bridle as she came near. Arthur opened his mouth, moved to say something, but it was Dutch that spoke first.

“Arthur needs tending,” the man stated matter-of-factly, his voice tense “and best you see to it, because if I do, one of of us will be dead before morning, that much I can promise you.” 

He heard Arthur swallow, his voice tight, as though he was trying to hold back pain. “I'm fine.”

“Why don't you let me be the judge of that,” Hosea reprimanded him quietly. Right now he was just so thankful to see him alive. Whatever hurts he had could be tended to. Their boy was home.

He reached up, offering a hand to help him down, but was ignored. Arthur had always been stubborn. But so was Hosea. And when he wrapped an arm around the lad's shoulder, there was only the briefest of hesitation before Arthur leaned against him, grudgingly accepting the help. It was a short jaunt to his tent, and he helped ease Arthur to the the ground.

The heavy breaths were not missed, neither were the low groans, the winces of pain. A shaky hand pressed to his midsection. Hosea nodded to him, motioning for him to take his shirt off. It was ruined now, doubtful that it could be salvaged. He waited until the boy started to comply, before stepping out of the tent.

He was no doctor; far from it, but he did have some experience. Had patched himself and Dutch up on more than one occasion. Had taken care of Arthur that one time when the lad had cut his thumb on his hunting knife. Had a little bit of knowledge of plants, of certain tinctures. He had put together a bit of a kit, something for emergencies. This definitely qualified as one, he was certain. He was just hoping it looked worse than what it truly was, otherwise they would have to take him to a real doctor. And trying to explain the origins of a gunshot wound after a known robbery was just asking for trouble.

Arthur had gotten his shirt off by the time he got back in, was fumbling with the makeshift bandage, stopping only when Hosea swatted his hands away. He used a knife, carefully cutting away the cloth, a there was a slight grimace on his face as the layers were pulled away. Hosea paused long enough to pass a bottle of whiskey to him, encouraging Arthur to drink. It would help with the pain.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“I weren't trying to rob it, Hosea,” he all but stuttered out, his voice hitching. “I swear. I wouldn't...but John...he...” his voice trailed off.

“I know,” he nodded, wetting a rag, working to wipe away the dried blood. John had told him as much earlier. Not to mention he had found the note, crumbled and torn, covered in mud. It hadn't made sense then, but it had after John had explained everything. “You're alright.”

Arthur was shaking his head, wincing at the administrations. “Don't matter now, I reckon.”

This wasn't a gunshot wound, Hosea noticed quickly. “When did you get stabbed?” Dutch hadn't said anything about a knife. Hadn't even seemed to care. No, instead he had been too busy chastising Arthur with an offhanded remark. Hosea's anger was growing, something he was desperately trying to keep hidden. He could be angry with Dutch later. Right now Arthur needed him.

“Bastard got lucky I guess,” Arthur rasped, whimpering as Hosea pulled the skin apart, working the rag into the cut.

“Easy, just breathe,” he encouraged him, “I need to clean this out proper. You'll need some stitches, but I reckon it'll heal just fine.”

“You don't need to do that,” Arthur shook his head, muffling another groan.

“You fancy on just bleeding out then?” He wondered, mildly amused.

“I can go to a doctor.” Almost sounded like more of a suggestion.

“True...but you're here, and I need the practice. Plus you're being such a good volunteer,” he tried to lighten the mood, with little success. He threaded the needle, knew this next part was going to be rough.

“Just do it,” Arthur breathed. He had always been brave. Hosea nodded, pinching the skin, working the needle through. He could feel the boy tense under him, one hand reaching up to grab him, holding tight, needing something to ground him.

“Hang in there,” he gave the encouragement, working as quickly as he could. “Almost done now.”

Another stitch and he was able to tie it off, used the knife to cut it free. Under him the boy's breath hitched, eyes squeezed shut as he battled the pain. It took several long seconds before the tension eased, his chest rising and falling with uneasy breaths. Hosea left him alone, giving him the moment he needed. He could only imagine the pain he was in right now. His poor boy...

“I'll...I'll pack my stuff in a moment,” he muttered quietly, the words almost missed. Hosea raised an eyebrow, a frown crossing his face as he turned towards him. This was news to him.

“Oh? And where do plan on going?”

“Don't know,” Arthur shook his head, eyes opening, but refusing to meet his gaze. His voice was wavering, on the verge of breaking, “I don't got no where else to go.”

“Then why are you so eager to leave?”

“I know when I'm not wanted.” His voice did break then, the last word coming out as a sob. It cut him, deeper than he thought possible, felt as though someone had torn his heart out with bare hands.

“And you came to this conclusion how?” He was trying to keep his own voice calm. Didn't need to add to his hysteria. Arthur had drawn in a few shaky breaths, was desperately trying to get control of his emotions. Fast, desperate breaths escaped, almost on the verge of a panic as he cried, curling up on his side.

“Breathe, Arthur, breathe,” Hosea moved closer, one hand reaching out. “Take a breath, that's it...just like that,” he nodded as the lad complied, rubbing his back. It took a few moments, but slowly he he started to calm down. “Take a moment and just breathe; I got you.”

Hosea stayed there for a time, trying to keep his own resolve as he listened to the soft cries below him, the sounds cutting right through him. He had never heard Arthur cry, not like this, and it unnerved him more than he thought possible. What the hell had happened to make him think this? To make him think he was no longer welcome? It took a few minutes, seconds stretching out far longer than they should have any right to do so, but slowly he was calming down. Hosea gave him a few more minutes, giving him a chance to catch his breath before he broke the silence.

“Talk to me Arthur,” he coaxed, “what's on your mind? Why would you think that we don't want you here?”

“Dutch said,” the words were barely breathed, cut off by another pitiful cry that tore a new hole in him. Hosea was going to kill the man.

“Dutch says a lot of things, but he wouldn't-”

“He made it quite clear,” Arthur cut him off harshly, swallowing. He rubbed at his eyes hastily, trying to dry the tears that were there. There were a few more pants, shuddering breaths as he was starting to win the battle and overcome his emotions. “Told John he was taking him back here, told me to leave.”

Hosea didn't have a response for that, didn't know what to say. Surely there had to be some explanation, but his mind was grasping at emptiness. He was trying to think of something to say to comfort him, to reassure him, but the words refused to come.

For a moment there was silence, but then Arthur's voice was quiet when he next spoke. “It was a pretty dream, but I knew it was too good to last.”

“Arthur,” Hosea shook his head. Did he really think they would get rid of him, just like that? Damn his heart was breaking for him. “Arthur, look at me, please?” he waited, almost assumed that he wouldn't, but finally Arthur met his gaze, tired and bleary eyes making him seem far younger than what he actually was.

“You are _family_. You are our _son_. Ain't nothing going to change that. No matter what anyone says. You'll always have a place here.”

“But Dutch-”

“You don't worry yourself about Dutch,” Hosea scolded him lightly. He would deal with the man himself. He watched Arthur shake his head, could see the youth was only half convinced. Hosea let out a sigh, leaning forward.

“Go on and get some sleep, we'll talk about this in the morning.”

“I need my things,” Arthur protested, struggling to sit up, “I want them when I go-”  
  


“You're not going anywhere,” Hosea cut him off, pressing him back down. “Not tonight. You aren't thinking clearly.”

“But,” he tried again, but Hosea was shaking his head.

“Close your eyes; I'll stay here with you a while...just try and get some rest, alright?”

Arthur relented. He seemed to have no strength left to argue. Not even to argue when Hosea covered him with a blanket, tucking him in as he had all those years ago. What a mess all this was. A god damn mess. And it was about to get all that much worse, he knew. Because now...now he had to have a chat with Dutch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good ol' Hosea, am I right? 
> 
> It's definitely a shorter chapter, for that I apologize, but it felt like an appropriate moment to cut it off. Next chapter will feature some much needed Hosea vs Dutch papa bear moments, but at least he's home, right? Let me know what you think!


	15. Ultimatum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote and rewrote this part about five different times trying to get the right feel, so I hope everyone finds it to their satisfaction. I now everyone has been waiting for this part...so enjoy!

Even with him back Dutch could find no rest. He found John still asleep by the fire, pondering at first and then deciding to leave him where he was lest he wake him. Then he found Susan partially awake in their tent, waiting for any news. He had checked in with her briefly, and they had shared a moment, but he refused the offer of joining her. He couldn't...not now, not with everything that had gone on. The tension that had worked it's way into his muscles had burrowed deeply, and he knew it would be a time before he could relax enough to actually sleep.

The ride back had seemed far longer than what it actually was. They hadn't talked. The few times Dutch had tried were all but ignored, Arthur refusing to even look his way. So he had stopped trying, decided to watch instead, frowning as the young man hunched over his saddle. He had heard the heavy breaths, knew that Arthur hurting. Damn stubborn boy.

It did little to calm his anger; there was an invisible beast that was festering inside of him, growing all the more, a faint growl at his lips. The fact that Arthur could be so careless, so nonchalant about his safety, about John's safety whittled away at his patience. And to make matters worse, the words Arthur had said before, that he wasn't going to back to camp? He had messed up sure...but his first response to that was to run away? Apparently loyalty meant little.

All the damn years spent raising him, caring for him, teaching him...did that not mean anything to him? That he could so easily disregard everything that had happened, to leave them thinking that something had happened, to just leave them wondering. The thought only fed the flame, a silent fire brewing inside of him. And the vile thoughts that kept forcing their way forward, sitting dangerously on the tip of his tongue was the very reason why he could not be around him. Dutch knew he needed to calm down, and soon, else he would say or do something he would regret. Bless Hosea...that man had the patience of a saint.

It hurt a little, he had to admit, to see Arthur give into him so easily. It had been a struggle for Dutch to even get close to him back in those woods, and Hosea all but had to offer up an arm and Arthur was practically falling into him. At least he was letting someone help him, the idiot. Now there wasn't much for him to do but wait.

So he took to his pipe, tried to settle his nerves, attempted to do some reading with little success. The words kept running together, kept blending, and though Miller often gave him wonderful insight, he doubted there was enough wisdom in these words for what had happened tonight. What the hell were they going to do?

Time passed; he watched Hosea leave the tent once and gather up some supplies. Watched as he ducked back inside. Could hear the voices, but he wasn't close enough to hear the words they were saying. At one point he could swear he heard crying...but maybe that was his imagination. Arthur didn't cry, wasn't a crying sort of man. Quiet, sullen, and sour...yes, he was all of those, more often than not. Angry? Definitely. He let out a sigh, turning to the next page, trying to focus back on what Miller was saying. Then new sounds were distracting him; Hosea had left the tent.

He glanced up, watching as the man crossed the camp, packing the supplies away. He didn't wait for an invitation. Dutch closed the book, made his way over to him, hoping for a positive update, for something good to come out of this night. “How is he?”

“Well, I'm sure he'll be just fine, if you must know,” the man muttered under his breath. There was a hint of something else there. An accusation?

“What do you mean by that?” His voice had grown hard, defensive.

Hosea met his gaze, didn't say anything, but motioned with his head before leaving the warmth of the camp. There was only one reason for that, and it wasn't a good one. Even so, Dutch followed obediently, already steeling himself for the argument that he knew was about to come. This wasn't a common occurrence; they bickered enough, that was for certain, but they weren't really arguments so much as a difference in opinion. Yet he doubted that this was one of those times. There had been something in his voice, something in his gaze that lingered there just beneath the surface. Seemed that the man had made his mind up on something.

Dutch usually was thankful for his opinion. Hosea usually had sound advice, usually kept him grounded when he became too exuberant, helped him to see clear reality when too engrossed by illusions of grandeur. It was a gift he was often thankful for, but not tonight. If Hosea was going to try and pass this entire ordeal off as a minor blunder, the man was in for a surprise. He would not, could not abide to such disobedience. Arthur had to learn to listen; there was nothing else to it.

They stopped a good distance away, shrouded in silence for a time. It was clear that Hosea was struggling with something, and Dutch waited, not wanting to be the one to start this. The man was tense, rigid in a way he had never seen. And it occurred to him just then that he had never seen Hosea...furious. Annoyed? Yes. Exasperated? Certainly. Fed up? Perhaps once or twice. But laden with such anger that the man couldn't even find his words? No...that was something new. Something he wasn't sure what to think about.

“What the hell did you do?” the man finally breathed, his voice eerily quiet. It almost sent a chill down his spine.

What the hell had he done? He had spent the entire damn night out searching for Arthur, had helped the fool and had brought him back home. That's what he had done. Hosea knew that as well, so what in the hell was he going on about?

“Out of all the stupid, idiotic, imprudent things that you've done in the past, this by far overshadows them all. What give you the _right,_ the _audacity_ to even think..” the man's had been growing louder, only for him to stop suddenly, his mouth clamping shut as though trying to stop saying something he might come to regret.

Dutch still didn't understand what he was getting at. Not at first, his mind reeling, trying to grasp onto a shred of what he was raving about. Then the understanding hit him, crashing into him like a wave, and he realized what was happening. Realized that Hosea was more or less blaming him for all of this mess, like it was somehow all his fault. The ugly demon that had been festering inside of him earlier quickly raised his head, and he matched that anger with some of his own. It wasn't the fact that Arthur had caused all this mess that dug at him so. It was the fact he was so unwilling to accept responsibility. First trying to blame John, and now casting suspicion on him? And Hosea was apparently the fool all the more to believe it.

“This was not my doing,” he snapped angrily, one finger held up, all but stabbing the air towards him. “Arthur deliberately disobeyed by going after that stage-”

“He didn't go after the stage, Dutch!” Hosea cut him off forcefully, “he went after John.”

“What?”

“John told me,” Hosea was shaking his head, hands on his hips. His voice had softened a little, but the anger was still easy to hear. “Told me he snuck out when Arthur wasn't looking, went to rob the stage on his own. Arthur went to stop him.”

John? No...surely no. The boy would never do that...

Dutch refused to believe it. It was Arthur who wanted the lead, who had pushed for doing the job, who had grudgingly agreed to not go after it was presumed to be a trap. Dutch had to nearly pry that promise from him, had seen the resentment in the man's eyes. And Arthur was a stubborn bastard when he wanted something enough. No doubt he thought he had everything worked out in his mind, had made the decision to go despite the warnings they had given. And how easy would it have been for him to go while they were away, and even worse, how easy would it have been to convince John to take the fall? The boy was so young, looked up to Arthur, would do anything that was asked of him.

So he shook his head, meeting the man's gaze. “I have a hard time believing that.” He wouldn't come out and say that Hosea was lying, not directly. Despite their current disagreement, he still respected the man far too much to discredit him. Not that it changed things; despite what accusations Dutch thought, it was clear in Hosea's eyes that the man believed this to be true.

“And why is that?” Hosea challenged him. “Because John can do no wrong?”

“Because John is a child,” Dutch growled, folding his arms in front of his chest, fingers digging into his elbows. He had to hold onto something, so help him. He was not used to this sort of belittling, nor this sort of needling, the man watching him as though trying to find any and every fault and turn it against him if only to prove some damn point. He would not be made a fool of.

“Who was more than eager to listen in on the plans, who has been begging you to go stir up trouble, and you filled his head with preposterous notions, encouraging him because you liked his ambition. But never once did you... _did_ _we_...sit down and explain to him the truth of the matter. So he took that as invitation, wanted to prove to us that he could do this.”

He noted the change, how it had gone from his fault to their fault. Still didn't sit with him all that well. He wanted to deny it, but the memory was there, burning in the back of his mind, taunting him. Praising the boy, encouraging him...but never warning him. But he didn't need to warn him...John was a kid, he wouldn't...would he? But he was prone to trouble, so it seemed. Trouble had found him that night at the homestead. Trouble had seemed to find him again here...or he had gone to find it himself. But if it hadn't been for Arthur chasing after this...this preposterous lead...

“Hosea,” he breathed, his words chosen carefully, “I do not think-”

Dutch faltered just then, watching as Hosea thrust his hands into his pockets hastily. What in the world was he doing? The man was digging, searching for...something. Then there in his hand, something being thrust his way. It was just a scrap of paper, barely bigger than his hand, all torn and cockled. The sloppy writing scrawled over the page, the words mussed from the dew that had covered it. Still legible, with some effort. Dutch found his heart catching a little.

“That's not Arthur's writing, and you know it,” Hosea motioned towards the scrap.

Dutch clutched the paper, staring at the words in disbelief. Could feel his heart skip a little, and didn't quite like the cold feeling that was creeping in.

“Arthur knew it was a trap; we talked about it a little, when we were off hunting,” Hosea had seemed to calm a little, the anger in voice almost replaced by what sounded like remorse. “Then John got this silly notion in his head, went to go rob the damn thing. Arthur went to stop him, or at least try. And according to John, Arthur all but saved his life, and how do you repay that favor? By kicking him to the street?”

“What the hell are you going on about?” he met the man's gaze. He was still trying to get himself to believe this new revelation, to understand what had really taken place. His mind was whirling, thoughts spinning far too quickly for him to latch on long enough to discover an answer. Now Hosea was going on about something else, something new, and he wasn't sure where it was coming from.

“You told him that he's no longer welcome here?” Not really a question; an accusation.

“I did no such thing,” he growled defensively. Where the hell was all this coming from?

“You sure about that?” Hosea wondered, pointing over his shoulder back towards the camp. That anger in his voice was back. “Because there's a young man back there who's so convinced he's no longer welcome that he was going to pack his things and leave despite the fact he has a hole in his gut!”

“ _I ain't going back,”_ the words resurfaced, floating in his mind. Dutch had chalked it up to to anger, to delusions brought on by pain, by resentment at being called out, of being wrong and made a fool. Now they had more weight behind them...but still, where the hell had Arthur gotten that idea from?

“He's overreacting, Hosea,” Dutch shook his head. “Things may have been tense out there, and apparently he took it the wrong way, and that indeed is unfortunate but I will not stand here and allow you to blame me for something that I-”

“Don't you _dare_ twist things around,” Hosea cut him off, his voice near a yell. “You and your philosophies be damned. You can save your flamboyant speeches for the fools we rob. What I know is what he told me. And he said you were quite clear when you were out there on the road. Told him that you was taking John back to camp, but that he was to leave?”

When had he done that? Dutch caught himself frowning, eyes darting from Hosea, down to the paper in his hands, and back, as though the man would pounce if he kept his gaze off him too long. He looked angry enough to do so. It took a moment before he could shake that image, turning his thoughts back to the memory that was ingrained in his mind. The mess on the road, John crying, Arthur trying to explain, the horsemen coming up the road. Arthur refusing to leave despite the danger that sped their way. The words came back to him, faint but very much there. _Get out of here!_

“The law was coming,” Dutch stated, his earlier words haunting him. He hadn't meant it in that way. Had simply wanted Arthur to get to safety. Surely the man had realized that. This wasn't the first time they had pulled off a robbery. But this hadn't quite been a robbery, had it? “We always split up to lose them. You know that.”

“You had no problem leaving Arthur behind in that situation?” Hosea raised an eyebrow, “He had been stabbed, Dutch! Did you even care about that?”

“Of course I did, _or would_ , had I known,” Dutch stressed. Of course he wouldn't have left Arthur behind if he knew the man was wounded. He figured there was bruising, and no doubt his pride had been hurt, but he had seemed fine. Arthur had picked himself up, had been talking, words short and broken by fear, but not by pain. How could he have known? “He didn't say anything.”

“Did you even bother asking if he was alright?”

“Of course I did. I...,” he started automatically, but trailed off just then as memory came back. He could remember John being tied up. The boy had been crying, face first in dirt and mud, and Dutch had gone to his aid, had cut him free. He had been trying to console the boy, checking him over for injuries and Arthur...Arthur had...he hadn't checked after Arthur, hadn't had the time, the law...

“You had no problem fussing over John, getting him out of there, but did you even once think about Arthur?”

“John is twelve, Hosea,” he ground out defensively. Was Hosea intent on blaming him for everything? “What was I supposed to do? Leave him on his own? Arthur is twenty, damn it; there's a difference.”

“He may be twenty,” the man spat back at him, his voice becoming tight, “but he spent the first fourteen years of his life beaten, abused and told by everyone who should have given a damn about him that he wasn't worth the trouble. Do you have any idea what that does to someone? He may be a adult, but he still so much like a child, and for whatever reason you refuse to see that!”

The words gnawed at him, shaking him in a way he wasn't comfortable with. There was little they knew about the man's past, and what little they did know failed to paint a pretty picture. It was a far cry from what he or even Hosea had gone through, the surly realization that Arthur never really had a childhood always lingering at the back of his mind. It showed at times, mostly in anger when he didn't get his way, but every so often it came about in a gentler, childlike way.

Hosea liked to nourish that youthful behavior when it cropped up now and then, took to it like a mother hen, but not so for Dutch. He wasn't good at... nurturing. He could give a speech well enough. Could spin his words to inspire and push men forward. And he pushed Arthur because he could see the man that he would become. He pushed because he expected better of him. Surely that wasn't a crime in itself, was it?

“We cannot dwell on the past,” he cleared his throat, speaking after what felt like an eternity. “Now what happened, what he went through as a kid, we can't change that. I would, if I could, believe me. But we have to look forward, to the future-”

“A speech ain't going to fix this, Dutch,” Hosea cut him off, words sharp and harsh.

“What do you want me to do, Hosea?”

“I don't know,” Hosea shook his head. The anger was gone now, replaced by something even more unnerving...despondency. Like he was giving up. Not on the argument, but on him. “He's sleeping now; told him we'd discuss things in the morning. And if Arthur chooses to leave...then I'm going with him.”

It hit him hard. Like a punch in the gut and for a moment he couldn't breathe. The reality of situation hitting him just then. He and Hosea had been together for near ten years, had struggled together through thick and thin, were old friends. They had built something together, were chasing the same dream, had always been loyal to one another, and yet...

“You'd leave? Just like that?”

“I won't let Arthur go out on his own.”

“Hosea,” Dutch shook his head, swallowing the bitter taste lingering in his throat, “we're family.”

“Yes,” the man nodded. “We are family. Arthur is a son, _our_ son, that we took in, that we promised to look after. Promised him that he wouldn't be left alone. I'm keeping that promise. And if you want us to stay...then you better figure out how to fix this.”

“That's not fair.”

“No,” it was odd to hear Hosea agree with him. The man sighed, going on, “things haven't been fair, not for a while now. Arthur has done everything to try and please you and you haven't even given him the time of day. I should have said something sooner, shouldn't have let it come this far...but it's too late for that now, isn't it?”

Was it? Sure things had been rough lately, but Hosea made it sound all that much worse. As though he was some kind of callous monster who couldn't even muster up the sympathy to even glance to the boy's way. Of course he cared for him; Arthur held a spot in his heart, always had, always would, he suspected. He didn't need to constantly go on about it...and yet. Thinking here, and now, he couldn't recall the last time he had spoken with him. Actually spoken that was...these past few weeks, the conversations they had, the fights...he and Arthur had been fighting a lot lately. Perhaps he had been too hard, perhaps he had pushed too much...

Dutch shook his head, letting out a breath. “No it's not too late.” If there was one thing about him, it was the fact that he would never give up. There was always a way out of any mess, any situation, if one thought quick enough. Well enough. Dutch met Hosea's gaze, noting for the first time just how tired the man appeared to be.

“We're here, Hosea. And we're alive...we'll be okay. He'll be okay. Trust me...just trust me, old friend. I just need some time.”

“You have until the morning, Dutch,” Hosea warned him. “You know how stubborn he is; so you better figure it out.”

He found himself nodding, rooted to the spot even as the other man left, his mind already racing. He would figure this out, he would fix this. They would be just fine...had to be. Because Dutch didn't see a reality in which they were not. He wouldn't allow it. Yet however it was to happen, had to happen soon, because morning wasn't that far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hosea was probably easier on him than what he deserves. And what are your thoughts on how Dutch can make things better? I don't know about you, but I can totally see Hosea and Arthur just going off on their own for a time, living a good life. They'd get into less trouble overall, I think. Let me know your thoughts!


	16. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I ever mentioned that I suck at coming up with names? Next story I swear I'm just going to put numbers down instead. Way less hassle...

Sleep was not easy to come by despite the fact that he was exhausted. There were far too many thoughts battling each other within his mind and far too many emotions swirling inside of him that he couldn't get a moment's peace. It didn't make sense; nothing made sense at the moment, and the harder he tried to make sense of things, the worse his head hurt. Or maybe it was due more to the repeated blows he had suffered earlier during the fight. Not to mention the pain from his side, a steady throb that flared into a sharp stab each time he tried to shift in a feeble attempt to get comfortable. But none of that matched the deep ache he had in his chest, the utter feeling of failure, of rejection.

Each time he nearly drifted off he was brought back to reality with a set of new fears, of dark notions, half fearing that they would decide he wasn't worth the trouble despite the earlier promises. Hosea had left him a while ago, had suspected he had fallen asleep, had slipped out quietly. Now Arthur lay, straining to listen, to hear anything, but was greeted with nothing more than silence. Too worn and tired he finally gave in to the exhaustion, and fell into a fitful slumber. It didn't last.

More than once he woke, feeling as though hours had gone by, only to be greeted by darkness still, to discover it had been mere minutes. And when he did manage to sleep his dreams were plagued by unsettling images. Memories of his father, of his life before he had come here, to visions of what his future would be. Alone and afraid...

One of the times he woke he found John sitting near him, the boy sniffling in the dark. Arthur had groggily lifted the blanket, inviting him in, the kid pressing against him as he cried, apologizing for everything. He reassured him, or at least he tried to. He was so out of it by then he wasn't sure if he had managed to succeed. Though he must had done something right because eventually the kid had calmed and had fallen asleep.

Arthur drifted off again, must have slept for a time if the light sneaking its way in through the tent was any indication. He noticed that John was gone first, noticed the pain second. He let out a hiss as it shot through him, and he managed to lift his head, watching Hosea through bleary eyes, blinking in the daylight.

“You're alright,” the man reassured him quietly, “we need to keep this clean, that's all.” The blanket had been pulled back and there was a cloth in his hands. Dully he noted it was stained red. Another whimper as a burst of pain jolted through him. He knew that Hosea was being gentle, but damn it still hurt. He swallowed, head dropping back on the pillow behind him, gritting his teeth as he waited for him to finish.

“There, all done.” The blanket was replaced, but his side was still throbbing. Felt as though it was almost on fire. Damn that hurt.

“How you holding up?”

He managed a grunt, eyes closed, his breath hitching as he waited for the pain to dull once more. Didn't feel like he could do much more than that at the moment.

“You want to get up for a bit, try and eat something?”

Getting up was perhaps the last thing he wanted to do at the moment. And the thought of food turned his stomach, a flare of nausea hitting him in the gut. For a moment he felt like he might get sick, and it took a lot of effort to stop it from actually happening. He didn't even attempt to answer with words, only shook his head, burying his face in his pillow. More than anything he wanted to go back to sleep, maybe wake later when he could pretend this whole ordeal had been nothing more than a nightmare. 

He heard something, a sound that was akin to a rough laugh perhaps, and then felt the weight next to him, realized just then that Hosea had leaned over him. There was a cool hand that pressed against his face, first on one side, then the other, staying there despite his protest, his attempt to move away. He heard the other man sigh, an unhappy noise escaping his throat before pulling away.

“Alright then, try to get some rest. I'll be back soon as I can; I promise.”

He was left alone again, and was on the verge of drifting off when the flap opened again. Damn...Hosea really had been quick, hadn't he? Arthur lifted his head, and then let out a groan at the sight. It wasn't Hosea, it was Dutch. Arthur let his head sink back against the pillow as he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to do this now. He didn't have the strength to argue and if Dutch kicked him out now there was no way he was gonna make it.

Yet maybe that was the point...why bother helping him if the intent was to just send him on his way? Certainly he wasn't worth the trouble. The thought struck him hard, and he barely was able to hold back the tears. What would Dutch think of him if he was to start crying? It wouldn't help his case, that was sure.

“It's alright son; Hosea's gone to town, gonna see if he can get something for your fever,” Dutch's voice was calm, full of concern. That wasn't something he expected.

He heard the man come near, could hear him sit. Tensed as the hand came to rest on his shoulder, before moving to his back in soothing circles. What was he playing at? Arthur wasn't sure. The man's demeanor was a far cry from what it had been the last time they had spoken, and certainly far different than he had ever known. Dutch wasn't ever this...quiet. For several long minutes he didn't move, body still tense as though waiting for the inevitable to happen. Waiting for the words he so desperately didn't want to hear, but knew would eventually come. But time passed, and there was nothing said, Dutch seemingly content to just be there, one hand still moving comfortably between his shoulders. Slowly he relaxed, must have fallen asleep again because it felt like only moments later he was being woken and eased up into a sitting position.

Hosea was back, and a mug of something was brought to his lips, the liquid thick and heavy, bitter tasting. Dutch's voice in his ear was sympathetic, but encouraging and somehow he managed to get it all down. They took the opportunity to clean his wound again, yet another painful experience, before laying him back down, encouraging him to rest. Not that he needed much encouragement. He was asleep soon after. More dreams, most of what didn't make sense clouded his mind.

The next time he woke was with more clarity. Still daytime, the light filtering in through the cloth. He lay there for a while, too tired and worn to try and move. His body felt heavy, limbs stiff and not too willing to move. Arthur tried to listen, tried to hear what might be happening out in the world beyond the flap of his tent, but it seemed quiet. So what now?

Was he still expected to leave? Hosea had encouraged him otherwise, but there was no mistaking that Dutch would have the final say. People called it the Van der Linde Gang for a reason after all. If Dutch decided he no longer wanted him here, there wasn't much to be done. The man had seemed so determined out there on the road. The anger that had been there still sent chills down his spine. _I've had it with you and your antics..._

Arthur swallowed at the memory, the fear he had felt still there, still clinging to him like bad odor. He had never seen Dutch that angry...never wanted to see him that angry ever again. So maybe it was for the best he left now; clearly he had overstayed his welcome here. After all, he was no longer a child, and he no longer needed anyone to watch over him. But needed, and wanting, were two very different things.

He had been on his own before. Knew that if it came to it that he could manage again. But those years of running, of being on his own, of constantly looking over his shoulder and expecting the noose to greet him at every turn was not something he wanted to repeat. Strange as it had been, he had settled in here with these folk, had found some resemblance of a home between Dutch and Hosea. Susan as well, and even though John was relatively new and still mostly irritating, Arthur had to admit there was something about him he liked. But his opinion mattered little if Dutch didn't want him around.

But if that was true, then why had Dutch come looking for him? Why would he bother with all the effort of bringing him back to camp if he was just then going to kick him out? Perhaps that was Hosea's doing. Perhaps Dutch had only come to get him because Hosea had all but forced him to. After all, Hosea had been adamant that he could stay, that he wasn't going to go anywhere. Maybe Hosea had argued against it. Arthur knew the pair had been arguing quite a bit about him as of late. Dutch seemed to be annoyed with him more than anything...and yet he had been in here earlier, had seemed calm, had seemed reassuring...

Maybe that was just because he felt sorry for him. Maybe Dutch would wait just long enough for him to be on the mend. Might even give him some money, some supplies so he wouldn't be completely empty handed. They used to help out those in need, still did when they had the chance. Dutch wouldn't really just kick him out with nothing, would he?

He let out a sigh, knowing that whatever happened, he couldn't avoid it forever. Best to get it over with then. He managed to push himself up, biting back a curse as his side twitched. Arthur gave himself a moment, waiting for the pain to pass. Then took a breath as he pushed himself to his feet. Damn...

He pressed a hand against his side, trying to quell the pain. Trying to remind himself to take a breath. It hurt more than thought it would. After a moment he was able to draw in a shaky breathe, could feel the pain ebb a little. Reaching down, grabbing a shirt, getting it on...that was another struggle. He didn't even bother tucking it in. Could barely dress himself; what a sorry state he was in. He wouldn't be surprised if they didn't want him here. He waited until he caught his breath before moving, taking slow and uncertain steps as he pushed his way out of the tent, blinking in the bright light. It almost made his head hurt.

It had to be close to noon, he noted. The sun was almost directly overhead, warm and inviting. The camp itself was quiet, seemingly empty, yet the fire crackled, the aroma of food wafting towards him, a growl in his stomach. He was hungry now...

“Mr. Morgan,” Grimshaw nearly gave him a start. Hadn't seen her, hadn't heard her come up. She came near him, hand landing on his shoulder, a warm smile on her face. “It's good to see you up; how are you feeling?”

“I'm alright,” he managed to get the words out.

“I'm glad to hear that,” she wrapped him in a brief hug, motioning towards the fire. “Now you go on and sit yourself down. We got some food just about ready, and there's coffee if you want some.”

He glanced back towards the fire, then around the rest of the camp, still noting how empty it was. Arthur cleared his throat, the curiosity picking away at him.“Where is everyone?”

“I put the lazy sods to work, tending to some chores, they were driving me crazy sitting around here moping,” she huffed momentarily, then her voice softened, a reassuring smile crossing her face. “Don't you worry yourself, they'll be back soon. Go on and sit now.”

He didn't argue, didn't have it in him. The walk from his tent to the fire was a few short paces, but it felt so much longer, left him out of breath and he winced as he eased himself down. His side wasn't the only thing hurting. His head still hurt, leaving him a bit dizzy and his jaw was still sore from one particular brutal punch one of them men had gotten in. He prodded at the bruises gingerly, wincing at the tenderness there. At least he was alive; that had to be worth something, right?

It felt odd sitting there by himself, and he was still trying to process everything. Grimshaw's amiable demeanor had helped ease his worries a little, but the apprehension was still there, as though he was waiting for something unfavorable to happen. Right now everything seemed okay; there was venison cooking on the fire and Arthur realized that it was probably from the deer he had taken earlier. A bit further away was a basket of bread, a few pieces of fresh fruit that would accompany the meal. He noticed the plates then, stacked nearby for when it would be ready. Five plates. One of each of them. They wouldn't have it out if they expected him gone, right? He sat there a moment, watching the flames lick at the last of the wood, slowly dwindling away. Proof that no one had tended to it for a while now.

Arthur reached out and poured himself a cup of coffee, taking a slow sip. It was warm, bitter but inviting. His stomach let out an angry growl just then, a reminder he hadn't eaten since yesterday. How much trouble would he get in for sneaking some food now? He risked a glance behind him, noting that Grimshaw was busy, not looking his way. Arthur set the cup on the ground and pushed himself to his feet with some effort. He made his way around the fire, quickly snatching a roll out of the basket with one hand, pausing as he glanced at the stack of wood nearby. Mind made up he bit into the roll, wandering closer to the pile. The bread had just started to stale, crisp on the outside but still soft at the very center. He ate with one hand, grabbing a log with another, winced as he walked back over to the fire, easing it on the dying flames.

“Mr. Morgan!”

He jumped, very nearly dropping the bread. Arthur swallowed quickly, trying to sputter out an apology.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” she huffed at him, coming over. He felt himself swallow, tried to battle down the sudden dread that had filled him. Apparently the bread hadn't been for him.

“I didn't know-” he started to apologize again but she stopped him there, reaching out with one hand to grab his shoulder.

“Sit down you fool,” she all but forced him down, “now I promised the boys you wouldn't be doing anything when you got up, so I don't want to see you even lifting a finger, you hear me?”  
  


That's what she was so worked up about? He felt himself breathe, the dread slowly easing. “It was one log,” he protested.

“I don't care if it was a twig,” she chastised him. “Now mind me and sit. I swear, between you and John I'm going to die a young woman.”

“Oh, I reckon you'll outlive us all,” he turned at Hosea's laugh, watching as he came walking in, a basket of wet clothes in his hands.

“Don't you be telling no lies Mr. Matthews,” Grimshaw scolded the other man, taking the basket from him.

“Arthur!” John had come in trailing behind Hosea, had seen him sitting there a moment later. The boy raced his way, practically jumping on him, arms wrapping around him in a clumsy embrace. “You're okay!”

“Easy kid,” he hissed at the sudden weight, but returned the hug, shortly before pushing him off. “You look a mess.”

He had a black eye, a split lip that looked funny when the kid grinned. “Hosea says I'm lucky that this all I got,” he announced, almost as though he was proud of himself.

“Yeah,” Arthur muttered quietly, “damn lucky they didn't just put a bullet between your eyes, you fool. What the hell was you thinking?”

It made him frown, a scowl crossing the kid's face as he answered. “I said I was sorry.”

“Yeah, well the next time you get a half-baked idea in your head to do something foolish, you on your own, cause I ain't gonna come after you sorry ass again.” Not if it was going to cause this much trouble. If he was determined to get himself in trouble, then he could figure his way out of it. John's only response was to huff, lips dropping into a frown as he sat down in front of the fire.

“How are you feeling?” Hosea came up near him then, one foot resting on the log. He leaned over, elbows on his knee as though to get a better look at him. “Got a few shiners yourself, I see.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, fingers reaching up, brushing against the bruises with a grimace. “I think I'm doing better,” it was the closest thing to the truth he had. He was tired and sore, apprehensive of what was to still come...but he was feeling better.

“Pain's not too bad?”

Arthur shook his head, hand dropping, wondering just then if perhaps he was fudging the truth a little. He did hurt, but not like had earlier, and as long as he didn't move too quick it seemed to be tolerable.

“Good,” Hosea seemed pleased with that. “Now, you're going to have to take it easy; that wound is in a bad spot, and you'll tear the stitching if you're not careful. So that means no lifting, no carrying anything...and no riding.”

The lifting and carrying...fine; he could deal with that. But riding? “For how long?”

“Until it's healed enough. I reckon a week, maybe longer.”

A week? Hosea had to be crazy. “I can't just sit here for a week,” he protested. He would lose his mind.

“Figured you'd be happy,” Hosea goaded him, “considering you were so worried about having to leave.”

He opened his mouth to retort and found himself lost for words. That was true. He had been ready to leave...part of him still expecting it, fearing it. But now...did that mean...

“I can stay?”

“I told you as much, did I not?” Hosea wondered, moving over to take a seat in a chair across the fire from him.

“Yeah,” he nodded, remembering that conversation, “I just thought that...that Dutch...”

“I reckon Dutch made a fool of himself,” Hosea shook his head, pouring himself the last of the coffee. The man took a sip, letting out a content sigh. “I'm sure he'll tell you as much when the two of you talk.”

Arthur nodded, the apprehension easing. So it was to be another lecture. He could handle that, he supposed, if it meant he could stay. Didn't mean he looked forward to it. Tentatively he licked his lips, clearing his throat as he asked the next question.

“Where is he?”

Hosea was taking another sip, a slight pause before he answered. “Went to town to check on a few things. It was that or help with the laundry. I don't think I've ever seen him move that fast if I'm being honest.”

He felt himself smile at the image. Yes, that did sound like Dutch. Next to John, he was probably the best one here at finding ways to get out of doing chores. It left him with an odd feeling, somewhere between relief and anxiety. The sooner he got things sorted the better it would be, but he would be lying if he didn't admit that he was grateful for the man's disappearance. He rather liked the moment of peace.

“Looks like the food's just about done,” Hosea broke this thoughts, the man leaning forward. “You hungry?”

“Starved,” Arthur admitted.

“I can imagine,” the man laughed, turning then towards the boy. “John, why don't you go on and take the bucket, fetch some fresh water for us first?”

“Why?”

“So we can make more coffee,” Hosea prompted him, “one cup is not going to do it for me today, I'm afraid.”

“Yeah, but why do I have to? I just sat down.”

Arthur let out a sigh, moving to his feet. They would never eat at this rate, damn lazy kid. “I'll get the water.”

“Sit down, Arthur,” Hosea shot him an exasperated look before he could even take a step. “We just talked about this; I know you ain't that dense.”

He let out a scowl, masking a wince as he eased himself back down with a sigh. Can't pick up firewood, can't collect water...they really were going to make him sit here and do nothing for a week, weren't they?

“Go on now,” Hosea shooed John off, and Arthur watched the kid stomp his way over towards the wagon to collect the empty bucket.

“Don't fall in and drown now, you hear?” Arthur called to him as an afterthought, chuckling at the glare that he got in response. Near him, Hosea laughed as well, leaning back in his chair. The man's voice changed then, almost remorseful.

“He knows he did wrong. Dutch and I had a long talk with him, and we'll do better to keep any eye on him moving forward.”

Arthur shook his head, “It wouldn't have happened if I was watching him like I should have been.” Weren't that the truth. He had been too busy with himself, his journal, doing what _he_ wanted to do. Had all but ignored the kid. If only he had paid more attention. Arthur still felt embarrassed by the fact that John had even managed to sneak out on him like that.

“He's not your responsibility,” Hosea reminded him, “Dutch and I took him in; we should have been keeping after him, not you.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. Still felt guilty; felt like he should have done more. “Just...” he shook his head. “I don't know. Everything is such a mess.”

“This ain't your fault, Arthur,” the man looked at him, stressing the words. “I don't want to be thinking that it is. You hear me?”

“Dutch thinks so,” he said the words before he could stop himself. Regretted it a moment later, chewing on his bottom lip as he turned away.

“Dutch knows what really happened,” Hosea reassured him, watching as John came trudging back with the bucket. He waved a hand, letting out a grunt as he moved to his feet to help. Set about brewing a fresh pot of coffee. “We'll talk about this later; let's get some food in you, huh?”

He nodded, licking his lips, the thought edging his stomach into a growl. Was he ever hungry. At least Hosea was letting him dish himself up, letting him move a little. Susan joined them soon after, the group of them sitting around the fire as they dug into the meal. Hosea cleared his throat, pouring himself another cup.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Dutch and I ended up in the same jail cell?”

He shrugged, biting into the venison, relishing in the flavor. He had heard it before, but only bits and pieces. “You'll have to refresh my memory on that one.”

“It was just before we met you, actually. We were back in Ohio, pretending to be some international merchants with a Portuguese shipping company, and Dutch had this idea..”

He smiled a little, listening to the man go on. And for the moment, at least, everything felt good. Everything felt...right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this you guys! Can you believe it? When I started this fic I figured it'd be around four or five chapters, but then I kept getting more and more ideas and this is what I ended up with. How crazy is that?
> 
> No Dutch in this chapter (Except a brief appearance), but that will take place next chapter as it seems fitting enough to end the story that way. But what Dutch has planned and how things go...that's what you will have to wait to see. A lot of this chapter was just some good hurt/comfort, not much happening in the meantime. 
> 
> The story that Hosea starts to tell at the end is mentioned on the RDR2 Wiki under Hosea's bio, and if you haven't read it, essentially they were arrested, then managed to escape, but not before robbing and tying up the sheriff. It sounds like an interesting enough story for him to share. And we so need more stories like that, don't you agree?
> 
> Let me know what you guy's think so far, and are you looking forward to the Dutch and Arthur bit?


	17. Ending

The laughter was easy to hear even from here. He pulled King to a stop, dismounting, watching the group from a distance. Hosea was one side of the fire, a grin on his face as he watched the two boys across from him. John was dressed in something far too big, sleeves hanging past his hands, the tail of the coat dragging in the dirt, but it was the hat over his head that seemed to be causing most of the hilarity. His head was tilted back, trying to see out from under the rim; it fell off at one point, Arthur reaching down to pick it up. Stuck it back on the boy's head, purposely dragging to forward to cover his face.

“How about that?”

“I can't see!” John protested, hands fumbling to grab the hat. A feat made all that much harder by the long sleeves, fingers trying to grab something through all the fabric.

“Then it's an improvement,” Arthur chuckled. Dutch found himself smiling; it had been too long since he had heard that. He left King where he was, could tend to him later. Right now he wanted to be with the rest of them, wanted to join in.

“What are you boys up to?” he wondered as he approached. He had to admit it was unnerving, the way the laughter died, a more serious mood all but replacing it. Well, this was awkward...

“Just messing around, Dutch,” Hosea was the one who answered. “Some of the stuff we got Arthur for that botched robbery...he wasn't a fan, so I figured I'd try them on John, just to see how it looked. What do you think?”

Even though John had managed to push the hat back the boy still had to keep his head tilted back to see anything. The duster coat all but drowned his figure, and ultimately he looked ridiculous. Still Dutch chuckled, putting forth a smile.

“Give it a few years and I reckon he'll look just fine. Especially that hat, once it fits.”

“His head ain't gonna get any bigger,” Arthur retorted, “Got not brains in there to begin with; just going to shrink.”

John stuck his tongue out, reaching out and giving Arthur a shove on the shoulder. Or at least he tried to, had missed for the most part, only the sleeve of the coat striking him.

“Be nice to your brother,” Hosea reprimanded them.

“Who?” Arthur wondered.

“Both of you,” the man shook his head, glancing up at Dutch. “How'd you get on?”

It took a moment, but he caught on to what Hosea was asking. Referencing his earlier town trip. He nodded, clearing his throat. “Good...just fine. Things look good.”

It was a surprise, he had to admit. A rather pleasant one. There was talk of the robbery in town, not that in itself was a surprise. But they didn't seem to have a suspect. There were no posters hanging about, no talk of who may have done it. Loose rumors that it had been a town drunk had been the most he had heard. All in all it seemed to have been chalked up to ill luck, and a poorly executed trap.

It seemed to ease Hosea's worries, the man relaxing with a nod. He cleared his throat just then, nodding towards John. “Why don't you and I go for a walk?”

“Now?” the boy protested, fumbling with the hat still. “I thought we was gonna play dominoes?”

“We will,” Hosea reassured him, moving to his feet. “We're just gonna take a short walk; we'll take Copper with us, get him to chase some sticks, how does that sound?”

He didn't need to be convinced. John hiked up the coat, falling into a funny run after Hosea as the pair headed out, Copper grudgingly pulling himself away from the fire at their persistence. It left just the two of them now, and Dutch did not miss how quiet it was, nor the fact that Arthur hadn't looked his way once. He let out a sigh, easing himself down on the log near him.

“It's good to see you up,” he started, “I was starting to worry a little.”

“Sorry Dutch,” Arthur apologized quickly, “I didn't mean to sleep so late.”

“Well, getting stabbed can be an exhausting ordeal,” he reassured him. It hurt him a little that Arthur's first response was to apologize for being hurt. Dutch tried to shake the unnerving feeling, doing his best to stay positive. “You look better than yesterday, at any rate. Got more color in you, and well, you're awake so I guess that's a start.”

Arthur frowned, looking at him. “What you talking about? I was plenty awake yesterday; between the stage and you...and Hosea stitching up that damn wound. Would have preferred to have slept through that if I'm being honest.”

“Oh Arthur...” Dutch shook his head with a little laugh. The man was watching him, a frown on his face.

“What?”

“You've been down for almost two days, son,” he leaned forward, watching him. “Don't you remember?”

There was a pause, a slight shake of his head, a bit of apprehension on his face at the realization of lost time. “Dutch, we came back last night...”

Dutch let a sigh, a sad smile gracing his lips. “You were pretty out of it. Hosea brought something back for the fever and something else to help with the pain, and well, I guess it was a little stronger than he thought it would be. But you were hurting, and we just wanted you to be able to get some rest.”

Arthur didn't say anything in response. Simply sat there, elbows on his knees, a pensive look on his face as he tried to sort things out. Arthur had slept through that first night, and then most of yesterday, had still been sleeping earlier today when he had taken off for town, and despite Hosea's reassurances that he would be fine, Dutch had still been worried. Seeing him not only awake, but up, had alleviated his earlier concerns. And now? Now they were here, sitting together in awkward silence, and Dutch was struggling to find the right thing to say.

“I am...so sorry, my son,” he breathed finally, the words slow and heavy. They were far more difficult to say than what he expected, laden with the guilt and remorse that had been eating away at him since his confrontation with Hosea. He had been wrong, a downright fool, so convinced he already knew what had taken place that he hadn't even considered the possibility of anything else. He knew Arthur, knew the man wasn't that reckless, should have trusted him more...

“It's alright,” the response was almost immediate, but quiet, accentuated by a shrug of his shoulders as though it was of no importance. How willing he was to forgive and forget. But Dutch knew it wasn't that simple; he didn't deserve forgiveness that easily.

“No it's not,” Dutch countered him. “I judged you unfairly, and made assumptions without even giving you the opportunity to explain, and well...that was wrong of me,” he paused, drawing in a breath, “I just want you to know that I am sorry. And I want to say thank you, for going after John, for keeping him safe.”

“Of course I went after him,” Arthur frowned, meeting his gaze. “He's my...” he paused, fumbling with the words as he cleared his throat. “He's just a kid, and well...I kind of like him, that's all.”

Dutch couldn't help but laugh. Arthur had tried his damndest to not say what had been lingering on the tip of his tongue, attempting to hide behind a facade of indifference. The relationship between the two boys was peculiar, a mixture the squabbles and facetiousness overshadowing the true sentiment that was there, and Dutch had no doubt in his mind that that bond would grow over time. 

They sat there for a time in uneasy silence once more, the awkwardness of it all too apparent as Arthur fidgeted, trying to find anything to focus on and pretend that he was busy, like a child trying to hide something. Watching him now he could understand to what Hosea had alluded to in their earlier fight, and the guilt hit him all that much harder. Memories of when they had first met Arthur flashed through his mind. Remembering how dirty and disheveled he had been; scared and angry, all too eager for a fight, a result of how cruel the world had been towards him.

It had taken time, a lot of time and just as much effort to coax him out of the shell he had buried himself in, but once they had, Arthur had shot past all expectations. He had been a fast learner, eager to please, undeniably loyal. He let out a sigh, turning away.

“You know, you've grown so much since we first met,” Dutch told him, staring at the fire now. “You've learned a lot, and you are capable of more than you give yourself credit for. It's been a long while since I've had any reason to worry about you. Sometimes I forgot that you are not as grown as I assume you are.”

Near him he heard Arthur scoff. “I ain't a kid anymore, Dutch.”

“I know,” he nodded, giving him a gentle smile, “but you're still young. I forget that, and that's my fault, not yours. It's...shameful, that it took something like this for me to understand that. It was wrong of me, to not trust you...and I...I was just so scared, Arthur,” it was a poor excuse of an apology. Blaming his faults on little more than fear.

Still he fumbled with the words as the memories returned, a shiver racing down his spine, knowing how close he had been to losing them both. They were always in danger, always at risk given their choice of how they were living. But having that knowledge in the back of their minds, and actually facing it were two vastly different realities.

“You were scared?” Arthur huffed at his latest comment, “You weren't the one being shot at.”

Dutch found himself laughing. Leave it Arthur to lighten the situation. He reached up, clasping him on the back, the tension easing as they fell into a silence. Not as awkward as last time, rather one that was comforting, just the two of them sitting there, enjoying each others company.

“You know,” he cleared his throat, once again being the one to break the silence. “I was in town earlier, checking out some of the wagons they had for sale.”

“What for?” Arthur frowned at him, “We already have a wagon.”

“That we do,” Dutch nodded, “But we can really benefit from having a second one.” Wasn't that the truth. As it was, they were making trips to town almost twice a week. A single wagon simply wasn't enough for the five of them, not to mention that between Arthur and John the boys were consuming rations like half-starved animals. A second wagon would allow them to stock up better, not just on food but other supplies, would allow them sanctuary in the wilderness for longer breaches and not have to set so close to towns all the time.

“At any rate,” he continued on, “I figured that once you were healed up, We'll head into town, see what we can get.”

“With what money?” he seemed skeptical.

“We always have extra money stashed away, don't you worry about that,” Dutch couldn't help but chuckle. They always took a cut from their jobs, hid it outside of wherever their camp was for times of necessity. It had proven invaluable more than once, and it was a practice he fully intended to keep as time went on.

“We'll find something decent, and it can be yours. We'll find a cot or something too; figure it's about time to get you off the ground, give you a decent place to sleep.”

“Not Hosea?” Arthur wondered, eyebrow raised.

“Tried that before,” Dutch shook his head. “That man prefers sleeping on the ground for some ungodly reason.”

Dutch had been all too eager for a proper bed, had spent funds on one as soon as he had been able to. Had been determined to do the same for Hosea, but the man had declined, and continued to decline the multiple times after. It hadn't taken Dutch long to finally relent despite not understanding the appeal. But that didn't mean Arthur was the same.

“So, what do you think?” It was a meager offer, a way of reassurance that Dutch not only expected Arthur to stay, but that he wanted him to stay. He still felt guilty, the mere thought that Arthur believed he was being kicked out eating away at him. That had never been his intention, had never even entered his mind. He wanted so much to explain that, but for some reason couldn't even begin to find the words to do so. And so this is what he had to offer.

“Sure, I guess,” the man shrugged. He seemed indifferent, not as excited as Dutch had hoped for him to be. He swallowed, almost nervous as he suggested the next best thing.

“Well, you know, when we get the new wagon, we're going to need a strong horse to pull it.”

That caught his attention, the skepticism clear on his face. Followed by a hint of irritation. It was a risk, he knew, bringing this up, knowing how Arthur felt about it all.

“Now, I know you don't want charity,” he defended himself quickly.

“I don't,” Arthur agreed, voice betraying the displeasure there.

“So don't think of it as that,” Dutch cut him off. “Think of it as...a reward.” More like a bribe, but he would do everything in his power to deny that.

“A reward?” Arthur was frowning. “For what?”

“For saving John's life.”

To that, he scoffed, shaking his head. “I ain't done no such thing.”

“If you hadn't gone after him, they would have taken him, and we would have been none the wiser,” Dutch pointed out.

“Maybe,” Arthur shrugged, “But you and I both know that it weren't me that saved him. That was you. If you hadn't found us...” he trailed off, unable to finish.

“Don't sell yourself short, son,” he chided him. John had told him what had happened, had spared no details. “You took on six armed men; beat half of them down with your fists alone. There are few men who can say they've done the same and lived to tell the tale.”

“I was lucky, that's all. And like I said, if you hadn't shown up, I'd be dead. That last bastard was choking the life out of me,” he reached up with a hand, fingering the fading bruises that lingered around his neck.

“I have no doubt in my mind that you would have gotten the best of him,” Dutch reassured him. “Given enough time; you're a right fierce bastard yourself. Last thing I would want in this life is to face you in a fight, that is for sure.”

“I ain't never gonna fight you,” Arthur told him. “You saved me...and not just there, but...well I owe you; I'll always be loyal to you, Dutch.

“I know you will, son. And loyalty has it's own rewards. You did well, so reap the benefits, and let's get you a damn fine horse, alright?” He held his gaze, almost as though he was challenging him. Arthur still seemed annoyed, the irritation easy to see behind his eyes before he turned away.

“I guess,” he replied finally. There was less animosity in his voice this time, though he still seemed unsure. There was a slight hesitation, the words soft when next he spoke. “What about Clover?”

“Well, I spoke with a stable hand. Seems like we might be in luck. There's a fella in town that's looking for a smaller horse for his son to teach him riding. You know as well as I do that Clover is good with kids, and I suspect we can fetch a decent price off her.”

“I suppose,” he shrugged, fiddling his fingers, twisting his hands, almost anxious. “But what if...you think she'll be okay?”

Oh heaven help him did Arthur ever have a heart. Dutch found himself laughing, leaning forward. “I reckon she'll be just fine. Spoiled rotten, no doubt. She'll have her own place, be fed as many treats as she can eat, and grow fat and happy in her retirment. A far better life than being on the run with us, I assure you.”

It took a moment, Arthur seeming to contemplate over things, but eventually he nodded, the smallest of smiles on his face. “Alright. Why not? Let's do it.”

It was good to hear. Dutch knew that things were not fixed that easily, but he reckoned they were far better than they previously had been. It would take time, and effort, just as it had before, but Dutch felt certain that they would be alright. They would survive, they would learn from their mistakes, they would grow stronger. And everything would be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks!
> 
> I'm never good at ending stuff, so hopefully it doesn't come off as too cheesy. 
> 
> Thank you to all those who left me comments and kudos, it really brightens my day. I see them all first thing when I wake up in the morning and it's a nice surprise. 
> 
> As for writing, I have another story I'm working on that's getting closer to being done that I'm hoping to start posting soon, so if you've enjoyed my work so far, just keep any eye out.  
> I also have plans for a few more stories after that, one of which is another young Arthur story (I really like those for some reason), but that is in it's very early stages. My workplace is just starting to open back up so I won't have as much free time as before, but I promise I'll make a good effort to give you more stuff to read as I really enjoy writing it. 
> 
> Don't forget to leave me your final thoughts on your way out, and hope to see you in the future! :)


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